Mix It Up — текст песни

Uh that’s right, we back in the building nigga

Young Fever Presidential, 1−8-7 Presidential

H-A-Dub, courtesy of Ghetto Dreams nigga uh

We got diamonds, the size of you niggas eyes this time

It’s VS2 Clarion on this one, we bout to fuck the club up

Go on mix it up (yeah), go on twist it up

If you in the club fucked up, holla (hell yeah)

I’m talking Henn and Hypnotic, hydro and chronic

Mugging a motherfucker, screaming (we don’t care)

Hate me when I skate up to the club, with a bug on my wrist

Custom six overload, no Crys

I came to throw some bows and break a nose, where my bitches and sixes

I see you motherfuckers outside, whistling and tipsy

Bitch you bouncing with your mouth wide, and mix on your kidneys

I’m worser than Ike and Bobby, beating Tina and Whitney

I hold three X and dro, feeling oh so woozy

Popped a bag of broad at the bar, and gon bruise it

Who party like we do shit, nobody

My niggas in the club, from Saturday to Friday

Bum rush the bar, trample over feet

And to you niggas play it sweet, or get put to sleep

You gotta love it, when these niggas play corporate

Until that metal open up they chest, and they stop just forfeit

You don’t want this desert eagle, in your face

And act like that drank on that bar, nigga stay in your place and

I’ma fall up in the place, with my mug twisted up

Straight shots of Henny, plenty hoes wanna fuck

Bitch niggas around me, with they nuts swolled up

This new nigga on the block, got your spot sewed up

1−8-7 the Lyrical Presidential, high roll

Put that diamond in your tooth, on the flo' (hell yeah)

We tear the club up, niggas throw your thug up

Bitches show your thong, acting like you scared take your ass home

I’m fucked up off dro and drank, calling niggas to the bank

Seeing how many gon ride, I see the panic in they eyes

You don’t want no problems dog, I just came to chill with y’all

Show you how real niggas ball, they don’t give a fuck

Three way pimp action, after hour in the Clutch

Slut chasing in the parking lot, dodging the butts

1−8-7, Young Fever and the H-A-Dub-K

Presidential, Ghetto Dreams and them boys don’t play

I’m at the club fucked up, in my pick-up truck

Fresh dressed, looking like a million bucks

I hit the dutch, then climb out the truck

Old school Chucks, walking with a gangsta strut

You can swear that I’m playing, for the Stanley Cup

I’m so iced up, just missing the hockey puck

I’m sipping on Hypnotic, feeling pshycotic

Good weed I got it, trying to see who bought it

Girls getting erotic, shaking ass and tits

They see a playa in the mix, so they jump on dick

Them girls so slick, with that famous rhyme

I ain’t a groupie, I don’t do this all the time

Lil' mama stop lying, cause I could really care less

I’m really not impressed, and all I want is sex

So baby what’s next, are you going my way

Another notch on the belt, for the H-A-W-K