Mr. DJ - All A's lyrics

Chorus: Goodie Mob (repeat 2X) I got tha feet, the beat, the gat on the seat Fakin ain't these girls fake when they see they face in the paint Mustard and mayonnaise, and we smoke always Pa**in by these haters like we got all A's [Backbone] Say say say say Crack, what's the word on the street? Nuttin but hard times, workin this concrete I'm gettin dirty looks from n***as, on the next street over They was in my filthy, fiendin gettin closer I'm in my seventy-nine, flyin Mobbed out so they can't see me when I'm ridin They slow me down, holla like we buddy buddy But at the same time I know these muh'f**ers wanna mug me Okay gunplay at the one-way one day witcha But I'll do years, if I bust these n***as Keep point four-five calibers of chrome I'm, comin forth to carry you home Chorus [Cee-Lo] Yo, well you damn right, dig it they call me Sugar Delight Uh-ohh ho, Willie cuttin virgin broads tonight Blowin like a boss, that champion chief in cost And oh my dual exhaust, will make your sh** get lost There's somethin bout these guns that give these hoes asthma attacks These are actual facts, I ain't been in no actual car-jacks But let me tell you this, I'll burn a n***a a** up to a crisp Ridin with these two Glocks, we gon' bounce on off, on the new shocks My n***a don't hate me, cause I ain't hated, but we related No one includin me, should be understimated But don't you dare ride through the SWATS without, at least 30 shots Cause I'm tellin ya, these Southern boys gon' get all they got Chorus [Khujo] Pop it in, get to work, brains blown, Edelbrock Off the block before your carca** drop Can't share nothin with the n******goles, stealin socks Out your cornbread dream too, if you got those, leavin deaf hoes Brown, on the outside, pink, in the middle Ain't, barrin none hundred round draw Nothin under seventy-five, and I get slick ?? Takin no prisoners cuffed, they die fightin for they freedom Everytime son, rhymes too pretty'll get your mascara smeared When they did, my buddy Spanky I bust out in tears The world would be a better place to live, if it was less queers I still see, punk a** b**hes.. b**hes.. Chorus [Gipp] Get up off and give me room, activate, motivate Y'all from the section where the straight sh**, straight up off the top Block for block, yo we got the ??, wait for days Gone up off the Purple Haze, when you see me call me Mr. Gipp Shoot em from the hip, everytime I'm in my 84 Sedan Deville Block me off and watch me peel, Big Boi grill ridin through the park On the weekend ain't no stoppin keep it dippin that's how we trippin Lookin mean, you too clean behind the gla** Watch yo' a**, keep yo' elbows out the windows And my hands upon the wood wheel, money in my socks Lookin out, for the cops, and for the haters got a fifty shot Whatever you wanna call it, n***a what? What? Chorus [T-Mo] Now watch em slide like some finger lickin chicken, bout to start clickin Ho better know who the true G's are, I'm the star, brand new car Dope ki lyrical cascade height, SWATS type, mic soldier Blowin composer, chief of that doja, told ya when I was older I wanted to live the good life, money over that bull, got that pull Stomach full, posse thick, n***as wish, at a young age Goodie Mo.B., doin they thang, I, pray, for, change And my players in this game it's insane, how this 'caine Is bringin em pain, young'un doin time dyin by this grind A-T-L, fine this just how it's goin down And the sound, watch your mouth in this motherf**in Dirty South n***a check it out, dirty SWATS got SPOTS Chorus