Chris Brown f. Drake, T.I., Kanye West, Fabolous, Rick Ross & Andre 3 Stacks - Deuces | Текст песни

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• Chris Brown f. Drake, T.I., Kanye West, Fabolous, Rick Ross & Andre 3 Stacks
• Deuces

(T.I.)

Your wrist and fingers glisten, ice cold like Michigan
Ay, look at what we livin’ in, here we go with this again
I ju’ keep on talking but I guess that you ain’t listenin’
Rather run around with them nothin’-ass bitches, then
Go on, got me hot, smokin’ like the chim-i-ney
We used to be best friends, now it seems we finna be enemies
Deep inside, it’s killin’ me, but soon it’s gon’ be killin’ you
To see her in that two-seater, no, that’s gon’ hurt your feelings, boo
Ah-ha, didn’t you think you would be over me
By now, so you go sleepin’ with them clowns, they are no relief
She spoke her peace, I know, capisce, so love must be let go, released
Into the wind, begin again, them deuces I must throw ya, peace

(Kanye West)

You know what, yo? You a bitch
You should have a travel agent, ’cause you a trip
You should make your own toilet tissue, since you the shit
But all you got is some fuckin’ issues, you fuckin’ bitch
I hate motherfucker, but I love your mom
Give her a kiss from me, her second son
Get your mind right, baby, or get your shit together
You gon’ be hot a little while, I’ma be rich forever
Girl seducers, they come in deuces
But when I cut ‘em off, they always become a nuisance
Niggas take my old flows, and they take my old swag
He just took my old bitch, and turned it to his new bitch
I’m stupid, but I won’t get my drama on
What I’m dealin’ with is too real for me to comment on
Jay finally got it through my head not to run my mouth
So when y’all talk ’bout You Know Who, I don’t know who you talkin’ ’bout

(Fabolous)

According to my old bitch, I be on some new shit
She was on some old shit, now I got a new bitch
Think I give two shits? You ain’t gon’ do shit
Meet my two fingers, intro, deuces
If you knew better, you’d do better
Wanna give the middle finger, but I got two better

(Chris Brown)

So you gon’ diss me even though you know it’s wrong?
Know you gon’ miss me a little when I’m gone

(Fabolous)

Drizzy voice
Now I’m ghost, baby, four-door Rizzy-Royce
Tryna work it out might be a bad business choice
I’m ’bout my business, boys, plus I make paper
C’mon, that’s old news, yesterday’s paper
Ho, you talkin’? What about?
If it ain’t how I kept you studded out, you might as well shut your mouth
You’ll never score another me, I shut it out
Act like there’s gum in your hair, girl, cut it out

(Rick Ross)
Got a pocket full of hundreds, she the only one that’s missin’
Got a bucket full of ice and a watch to go wit’ it
Got a racing Lamborghini if my homies scared to drive
Haters better put they heads down, they know that boy be fly
All the chartered planes, now I’m talkin’ baller slang
R-o-z-a-y on the wall in that Hall of Fame
I let my denim sag, red Louis belt
How can you love me, baby? First you gotta love yourself

(Andre 3000)

The farewell email, from a female
But I’m a player, ain’t gon’ tell ya all the details
What it entails is hard to say like selling seashells
By the seashore, but she’s not a bore
But neither a whore, who needs to know more?
The kind you can’t ignore but want to open the door
For, or, run in your favorite store
And leave with all them shoppin’ bags and half of it ain’t yours
I did things for her, ain’t rich, ain’t poor
I wanted to do more, but hell, I just ain’t know her
Well enough to know if this was all that she came for
But enough to know tonight, excited, she came four
Times, to my cousin house to see if I was there
Getcha minds, out the gutter, man, we out here tryna have a good
Time, and here I am all heavy with the word swear
Somebody that’s a nerd likely fast-forward, but, shit, they asked for it
It’s hard to throw up the deuces, ’cause when you know it’s juicy
You start to sound like Confucius when makin’ up excuses
Chase cabooses ’til the track gone
I gotta find me a new locomotive, stop makin’ sad songs

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