k** rogers - Get.it lyrics

[Verse 1: Daveed Diggs] Uhhh b**h where your clothes Why they ain't on the floor Player, where is your money? How you gettin' the dough? Colored lights like a disco Downing shots like a missile Put a stamp on that a** Now that a** is official Who getting sick from the thizzing? Who got grease in they kitchen? Who got dollars for p**y? Who the f** is you kidding? Who got kids at home? Don't say nothing Take your shirt off, show 'em something Woah, hold up Swag, swag, swag, throw up Yeah, you got the club smelling like a** Last a**es still standing, gon' get it some cash So get it, get it, get it, get it, get it [Verse 2: TiVo] Yep n***as out in line like there's nothing else to do But it's nothing else to do, with a line full of n***as Aiming at the bar, like you waiting for a shot 'Till somebody pull the trigger, now everybody dipping Get them flipping out the door, whip it work India Jones Raid this b**h, indeed it though f** the world 'til tomorrow come It's more abundant be alone Pour a blunt and drink the smoke For the sun up, re-up more up More you plan to be afloat Everybody going like, "Got to get it, get it gone" Get it 'till that sh** is gone Get it 'till them b**hes, b**hes, b**hes, b**hes, b**hes know Set the record set in stone Set in metal, cell a' phone n***as reppin', reppin', more Reppin' more now get it, get it, get it [Verse 3: k** Rogers] Yeah Light that propane and sizzle Play that dope game a fiddle Your aim is set, how you mobbing? Working at night like you Kimmel Hipsters sip that kombucha while my pimp juice is organic I slang that sh** out the sliver of my pimp zipper, God damn it Where the f** my hoes at? Where the f** my robe at? I am that trapping Hefner Spilling Remy on my throwback Three b**hes in my Nova, comatose, they robo rocking One of them naked, playing with p**y while holding my johnson Yup, yup, now put your mouth down on it And get it, get it, get it Take a breathe and lick it Get it, get it, like you're protein deficient I want to Instagram this and have twenty people like it And thumbs up to the camera so these hoes know they're invited [Verse 4: Daveed Diggs] Uhhh Cocaine up to the ceiling Fiends are snorting the roof Stroll in front of the club Daddy buying some shoes Bouncer probably can't be in them Eggs are down to the yoke Collared shirts in a line f** that line, it's a joke Ahahahaha, punch lines Get it? Punch lines Get it, get it, get that rum punch Laughing at a motherf**er's lost lunch Throwing bowls, swelling eyes, getting baked, selling pies Flipping birds, counting money, snort it 'till their nose is runny Blood is tripping This blood is cripping Leave this blood crippled, then everybody dipping Get it, get it, get it, get it Woah