Twista - Get It How You Live lyrics

Published

0 337 0

Twista - Get It How You Live lyrics

Double S, never less baby Twista and Scott Storch in a dropped Porsche That new sh**, check it out [Chorus: 2X] My neck on bling, cris on chill Standing on the corner steady, trying to make a mill When it come to hustling, got to get it how you live And I'm on the come up, so motherf** how you feel [Verse One] My fingers on frost, ears on froze Hanging at the club while hoes slide down the pole Rolling with the Gs and the Foes and the Souls With two b**hes on my arms, sporting thousand dollar clothes Looking kind of stunning, so the cameras on flick Ain't no motherf**ers out here that can do it like this On top of my game, and when a hater's all fall Imma be smiling, revealing my grill from Paul Wall Shake it for me b**h, let me see you get loose Let me see you sipping on some sh** that's 80 proof Let me see if Imma let you get up in the 'lac Bend over so I can see how Imma hit it from the back I hustle wit the rhymes, but I'm better wit the keys And I'm clubbin' wit the pees, I get cheddar wit the fees I'm always on the hustle, so don't ask why I succeed I got flows, I got dro, I got whatever u need [Chorus: 2X] [Verse Two] Tires on shine, rims on gloss When it come to mobbing, Imma motherf**ing boss I stay making paper, behind the mic and on the tipping I ain't stingy wit the dust, the whole crew ride slick Think you sh**ting on the n***a t, I doubt that My flow will make your booty move, like a house track Have 'em at the party screaming, "Get the doe", "Get the doe" And if I ever go broke, I guarantee to bounce back If beats was like a tipper, then my flow would play the cane Got sh** to make you float off the floor, like David Blaine You rich because I spit it universal to the drums And I circle with some guns, blow out purple out my lungs I pimp and f** a b**h, I don't need to buy her 'lacs I be on the move, staying paid pushing Cadillacs Investing in my raps, if I don't make a quarter back I throw eight balls to my homies, on the corners like quarterbacks [Chorus: 2X] [Chorus2: 2X] Let me break your back shawty, show me what u got shawty We some motherfuking k**ers, Chicago made n***az making figures [Verse Three] Teeth on bling, rolly on flick Standing on the stage while I'm holding on my dick Bout to spit a new verse off out the mobstaz new sh** Holla walla pop the colla on my new outfit If you want war, you think you got rounds to come get me I think you better go smoke a whole pound of that sticky keep on talking that you're not hate around your committee Imma dodge that n***a that put it down for the city [Chorus: 4X]

You need to sign in for commenting.
No comments yet.