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Correct Lobo Wanna Raise Lyrics
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Artists: S
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South Park Mexican
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Correct Lobo Wanna Raise
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Lyrics:
Spm Uh, uhh pick up my voice a little bit Just a little man, just a little bit man, yo just a little bit dog, just a little bit, yeah Flippin ex-ho trippin... Ohhh shit Flippin, ex-ho trippin Got them new kicks from that boy scottie pippin ???? Livin skin off the chicken And you hos already know what I'm sippin Still a big dippa' Still a straight killa' Still unloadin' off that eighteen wheela' Nobody betta', never ever ever Glass on my 'lac like that girl cinderella Hand on my 'retta Surf on the netta Lookin for a shredder in a polo sweater Beef gets settled Straight from the ghetto Say you comin back homeboy I keep espedo Hillwood tx, not many mexicans 'cept the one that got them two six hundred engines Don't ask questions, don't give answers Sittin at the bar cause I'm not a good dancer Its the day after, pray for me pastor Mix a little purple with the strawberry shasta Or the cream soda Rollin in the cobra Motherfuckin thug born the fifth of october Servin that coka Its la vida loca Catch her at the club ima slap her then choke her Still a baller haulin, bought and I shot it Call it what you call it, more brown bags than sonic Man I'm abra cadabra Struggler not a straggler Bubbler not a babbler Hustler not a hastler Never been a bachelor Always been married To these fuckin streets Stayin long 'till I'm buried Now ima swang, ima swerve I think I'm seein blurrs Wit my boy serge in the trunk watchin spurs Wit my persian princess On twenty-two inches When I sleep she say that my trigger finger twitches I'm superstitious and I believe in ghosts So many hos wanna be with the 'los I'm tweakin on the motherfuckin weed that I smoke Goin ninety-five on my motherfuckin boat Ridin them waves Chunkin up my tres Lobo call me up talkin 'bout he want a raise Crime sho pays Don't do braids, keep a low cut like that boy norman bates Rattles and it shakes, jumps and it brakes White candy paint look like the pearly gates Sellin my tapes in fifty different states Fuck the radio cause you motherfuckers hate But it's all good, I'm from a small hood Tie his bitch ass up and bring him back to hillwood In my levi's sag down to my lugs With a t-shirt that say "breeders not drugs" Be one of us, live in the rush Just put diamonds on my baby's hairbrush I fuck with the plus and not the minus And I might just let my black nine bust And it goes like... Uchei [Chorus:] Uhh ya'll ain't ready for this Nuh-uh ya'll ain't ready for this Uh ya'll ain't ready for this, come on, you no ready for this Spm I tightin up my laces on my brand new stacy's Hug and kiss my babies then call up my crazies Tryin to make it through another day no easy Motherfuckers hate cause I'm on top like zz Young niggas think we out here playin fuckin games 'til one niggas lookin at the other niggas brains Laughed and you giggled bout the words that I riddled Now we step in the coffin rock hard and dick shriveled Hoppin along in my '54 bomb Yes I hate pigs like them boys of islam Gone in the wind, not long 'till the end No more talk with my glock in the palm of my hand Alize at the mandolay Got a call they shot two, the rest ran away That's how the shit gets done in the deep south I'm in vegas watchin vargas knock a bitch out Ice glisten ballitician hold it down and dirty Peace to all my fuckin raza up in alberquerque Sign a bonus with???? Now my house is roomy Niggas wanna do me but you bitches nothin to me Understand my killers love makin haters bloody Actin buddy buddy softer than silly putty Hang by a rope and gut 'em like you do a goat And on his neck write this on a fuckin note Bitch pissin in the wind what began has begun Blast my heat once sweep 'em up then be done I'm one in a catrillion, motherfuckin million Layin in my bed gettin head from a brazilian Mama still bitchin Gangstas still listen I'm blowin weed with them boys from new edition Man I'm ballin Never ever fallin Skip to my lou my motherfuckin darlin And it goes like... Uchei [Chorus:] Uh ya'll ain't ready for this Ya'll ain't ready for this Uh ya'll ain't ready for this Nuh-uh ya'll ain't ready for this, listen Uchei So if you see 'em see 'em, go head tell 'em tell 'em Only music is my dope and I sell 'em sell 'em Or I slang 'em slang 'em It don't matter what you call it My shit so hot up in the hood you better record it Now some of ya'll niggas think my heart is so warm Cold motherfucker me, you don't want none motherfucker Have your whole crew ducka ducka It happens when I pull out my nine milla placa Nigga watcha, be careful cause my blood gets hotter Chunk that bullit out my gun than stoppa Remember when I used to be a mic wrecker But by the grace of your way I come to be the mic checker Now it's betta, now that I'm makin that chedda My belly stay full and my throat was never wetta Every????, meet me at the back stage letta Cause when???? We goin' go down to jamaica That's what I'm talkin about See ya later Uh ya'll ain't ready for this That was kinda tight wasn't it (yeahhhh) Alright Eh he he yeah right
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