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Correct What I'm Bout Lyrics
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Artists: R
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Rob $tone
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Correct What I'm Bout
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[Verse 1: Rob $tone] I pull up on your block, I'm winning when I pop out I pulled up, bagged a pretty bitch, ain't even have to hop out Well damn, I guess I'm hot now, I fuck it up and rock out Stuff a knot up in my sock, an extra TEC up when the cops out Well oh my god I'm known to shake 'em up when I be slidin' out, I'm trippin' Catch 'em slippin', pull the Glock out We all we got, my brothers at the top We in your pockets, need the guap and all the bitches in your contacts And don't stop that, baby throw that wop yeah Do it how I like it, I'ma hit it when it bounce back All white Lam looking like a light flash Diamonds on me dancing, got me looking like I'm lightskinned I look like damn, bitches looking like damn Who the fuck is that, it's young Rob, Gucci'ed Louis'ed down I spent a bag on a bitch then went to fuck her friend All around the world I get the bag then run through again [Chorus: Rob $tone] Pipe down nigga, pity and you pout nigga Yeah yeah, I'm getting litty in your town nigga What I'm 'bout nigga, titties, Henny, big amounts nigga Yeah yeah, I'm in your city making rounds nigga What I'm 'bout, hit the Grammy then I shout, yeah yeah I hit the bitch then kick 'em out nigga What I'm 'bout, this is really what I'm 'bout nigga Yeah yeah, I hit the city make it bounce [Verse 2: J Davi$] It's a vibe, bitch give me the light Ho get out my face lil bitch, you know you ain't my type I'm a shot caller, feel like Ben Baller Twenty-four karats, you ain't even got a dollar Feel like Stone Cold, you lil niggas bold Try and run up on me, leave your lil ass in the cold I'm the fuckin' man, you niggas some chins Need a hundred fuckin' million, fuckin' hundred fuckin' grand Lil bitch, ayy [Verse 3: Rob $tone] Bitch I'm off the shit, ayy Shit my wrist ache, I whip it 'til my wrist break, ayy When I'm dippin' I'ma switch lanes Out on Biscayne, where the bitches give brain, ayy I'm the shit but never look stank Eating big rings, sauce up on my big ranks, ayy Man these groupie bitches insane Don't make 'em give names, I'm balling out like King James [Chorus: Rob $tone] Pipe down nigga, pity and you pout nigga Yeah yeah, I'm getting litty in your town nigga What I'm 'bout nigga, titties, Henny, big amounts nigga Yeah yeah, I'm in your city making rounds nigga What I'm 'bout, hit the Grammy then I shout, yeah yeah I hit the bitch then kick 'em out nigga What I'm 'bout, this is really what I'm 'bout nigga Yeah yeah, I hit the city make it bounce
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