Текст Gucci Mane – Mud Musik
Текст:
Intro
Ughh, Flocka! Gucci! ‘Rarri, Boyz!
Ay Tity Boi what’s happenin mane?
We turnt up mane, shout to the whole city mane
Waka Flocka Flame
Half a pint in my two liter, I just slow sip
This that mud drank, my ‘rarri go hard in the paint
Pulled up dancin right, hopped out flexin ice
Niggaz’ll give they life, just to live my life
Bitches yellin loud, walkin through the crowd
With a triple cup (po’ po’ po’ me up)
‘burry game clique, flags in the sky
Walkin through the God I swear to God I’m in the sky
Astronaut high, I’m that guy
Stacks on stacks, racks on racks
I keep mud on standby
Got some real niggaz that you cain’t even stand by
Chorus
I just slow sip (po’ po’ po’ me up)
Styrofoam cup (tri-tri-triple cup)
This that mud drank, fo’ ounces and a one liter
This that mud drank, half a pint in my two liter
(Po’ po’ po’ me up) styrofoam (tripled up)
(Po’ po’ po’ me up) styrofoam (tripled up)
This that mud music, this that mud drank
Styrofroam cup (tri-tri-triple cup)
Gucci Mane
Styrofoam cup we po’n up, Gucci, Flock’, blowin up
We so fuckin up, all our foes they be duckin us
You must dress in the dark with yo’ tacky ass
I’m Big Gucci, cool guap’
Got 80 grand in my khaki pants
Tity’s on the scene, yeah that’s my team
BSM yeah that’s my scene
I’m a millionaire, that’s reality
You want a mill’ that’s a fuckin dream
I’m on mine, got two nines
Throw my watch in the air to let time fly
I’m DUI, I’m too high
You heard that young nigga I’m too fly
Thugged out young nigga I’m ’bout my bread
Don’t want no pussy girl givin me head
We ain’t even gotta stop to use the bed
Ay-ain’t no need to fuck up the spread
I’m drinkin, I’m thinkin
All the real niggaz we linkin
My Brick Squad all be down on hangin
Sippin lean done got me famous, Gucci!
Chorus
Tity Boi
Yeah, mud, mud, Gucci!
This that kickstand, campaign
Over they head like an airplane
Brang yo’ gurl to the club ’round me
and my niggaz then she fail game
2 Chainz, I’m too much
Every time I fuck I get two nuts
Every time you see me I’m with two sluts
I ain’t in or out ‘less the Coogi cut
Promethazine, contraband
Told them folks we a country band
Brick Squad, duffle bag
Bunch of knucklehead niggaz sayin «Fuck the feds»
My bread long like Subway, Louis’ on, unlazered
And I ain’t talkin money when I hit you with this one caper
I need two mo’, two liters
I got bass like two speakers
It must be (Do or Die)
cause these niggaz out here «Po’ Pimpin»
All we doin is slow sippin
I be on that codeine
I got fo’ zips
‘Bout to po’ it on this ice cream, ughh!
Chorus