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Correct Boomshakalaka Lyrics
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Starlito
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Correct Boomshakalaka
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Lyrics:
Oh! It's a party up in here now, shakalaka! (nasty) It's real eh J yeah, true story (yeah) Ballers wanna be rappers Rappers wanna be ballers I don't know where's the Step Brothers S-B Three (Step Brothers) Pull up shooting, yeah I clutch .30's Just like Curry, but my cup dirty I'll shoot a, like Future When Young Metro say you ain't trustworthy Does that make Trip Klay Thompson? In the kitchen like Action Bronson Racks on me like I'm Blac Youngsta I'm an All-Star with cash money NASCAR full of fast money I a for her tax money My bread dirty like Murphy Lee But I'm Marshawn Lynch if you at me something I'm so cold, I need a space heater, and a pair of mittens, and a chinchilla Left hand shooter like James Harden But I'm good with the right like Quentin Miller Blade sharp as a potato peeler My clip long enough to say No Limit My babies even like ballin' out they say "Daddy's pockets got Play-doh in it" This my real life man, this ain't no image All these rappers with the same ol' gimmicks Talk that talk but they don't live it We the Dream Team, '92 Olympics Pistol on me like I'm Pete Maravich Shooter like I'm Peja Stojakovic You would think I play for Gregg Popovich Moral of the story, you ain't robbing Strapped like I'm ready for an apocalypse Two percent tint on my rocket ship Beam on my bit' with a carbine kick And a clip longer than a hockey stick (oh) Two 9's on me, I'm Jermaine Gretzky Ten pounds of sour that's a power play Tryna get a check and stay out the penalty box I've been grinding 48 hours a day I can eyeball it and tell you how much it weighs Sell you drywall and tell you "Have a nice day" On the Eastside that's the games we play But I've been trying hard to stay out of the way I know some bad bitches that'll lie to your face Tell you that they love you then send my guys to your place Nah, and they don't bake Comin' for them pies and that cake And all they wanna know is the time and place Money in the picture, I'ma find a way I checked my schedule, my time is great It's pay day, it's my kind of day I'm back in the bitch like I moved away Laughing at the bitches that I used to date Told me to buy her a Gucci bag, I told her "Shut uh up" like Juicy J This must be hallucinating I'd rather throw all my loot away I'd rather burn all the cash I got, if I tricked I'd never recuperate I'd be somewhere in the ICU Breathing through a muthafucking oxygen tube Craig like "Craig, what happened to you!" I'm dying cause I bought some shoes They lie so often, I get confused I'm on my grind, yeah my office is my kitchen too Everybody with me tote my too You might get hit six different tools A .45, a .40, Glock 9, FN five-seven, and a couple Mac-11's Overnight trip, yeah we still pack the weapons Though we might trip, extra clips for protection This ain't what you want, but that's just a suggestion Make it out alive even if I get arrested Tell a hundred lies, but I won't give a confession I could teach a lesson on discretion, Lito S-B Three (Step Brothers)
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