Curren$y - 442 (Feat. Lil Wayne & Birdman) (Radio Rip) | Текст песни

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• Curren$y
• 442 (Feat. Lil Wayne & Birdman) (Radio Rip)

[Verse 1: Curren$y]
442, 442
I'm burnin' gas like a 442
I'm rollin' past that BMW
That new shit pretty, these old-schools move
I ride city-to-city, my motor fine-tuned
I've got your girl with me, she so unfollowed you
I'm a paper on paper mission, caper to count the loot
We super fly fishin' with Yachts and Gucci shoes
Started with no pot to piss in, now I smoke pot and kick it
Beautiful stranger bitches trying to get more familiar
New Orleans know I feel 'em, wherever I go, I bring 'em
Real niggas in the building, smoked out any whip I've driven
Only focus is gettin' in the door, so we ripped it
Up off the fuckin' hinges like: "Where's the dope? We know it's in here"
Hoes already told us, give it here
Fuck them, we ball, so high, on this motherfuckin' jet
Check my rhymes, I ain’t told a lie yet, nigga

[Hook: Curren$y]
442, 442
I'm burnin' gas like a 442
We comin' through, convertibles and coupes
My OG told me, "Smash anything in front you"
442, 442
I'm burnin' gas like a 442
Convertibles and coupes
If it's 'bout that cash, there's no tellin' what we'll do

[Verse 2: Lil Wayne]
Money to the ceiling
Pimpin' is a gift I opened way too early
Like my hoes hair curly, redbone curvy
Make 'em run from this dick Jackie Joyner-Kersee
Alright, lipstick on my boxers, these pills fuck up my posture
Quick frankly I'm Sinatra, I'm shark and you tilapia
I've got shooters on payroll, but I grab my binoculars
I'm lookin' for my reason to tell my shooters I don't need 'em
Alright, revenge taste better than pussy
Man, ain't got no purple, gotta get it from Whoopi
I'mma put it in your mouth, I don't know how else to put it
I bet they ain't fuckin' with me, where's the bookie
Alright, I'm a motherfucker, quote-un-quote
She ride this dick like it came off the showroom floor
Lil' Tunechi aka No Baking Soda, I'm high, Lamar Odom
I'm smokin' like a motor

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Birdman]
We poppin' off
We get to stuntin', you know it's bang or ball
Rollin' off, slidin' free shopping spree we clear them streets
Third wall, we bend them niggas
Reppin' mines to the end, my nigga
High life, we can't fake [?] so we'll show them niggas
Take they bitches, bring 'em home
Stunna holla, bang and ball
Layin' low in my old school
Top back for my old cool
Gave them niggas fresh game stay fly in that Bentley Coupe
Told my bitch how to get this money
Showed a bitch how to get this money
Pimpin' hoes, we pimp this game
Got the money, we kept on runnin'
Hard top and that new school
Drop top and that new school
Roof wide open nigga out the pound with them big tools
What up five? We in this jungle
What up five? We keep it bumpin'
What up five? We shine and hustle
What up five? Bugh

[Hook]

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