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Correct Choosin Lyrics
Lyrics
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Artists: C
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Currensy
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Correct Choosin
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Lyrics:
[Verse 1: curren$y] Daytime – lights on Hell yeah I’m frontin’ but you love it I don’t hide, bitch, I’m high when I’m in public Even in my everyday ride I be stuntin’ This is nothin’, really, you should see me sunday I’m from new orleans, love, so you know how I’m comin’ Hop out that impala, left the motor runnin’ There’s my lil’ homies front that store, they ain’t gon’ touch it “spitta, where you goin’?” I’m finna make the money I come through in that bread truck, everybody hungry I be tryna keep it low, but the streets be talkin’ I heard they think I’m sellin’ dope, on them walkie-talkies They worse than them bitches, them bitches be stalkin’ Outside checkin’ for which car a nigga parked in She said she from belize, but she can speak ferrari I roll that tree and write a song about it in the morning [Hook: curren$y] Pull up in that… and them bitches start choosin’ Choosin’, choosin’, choosin’, choosin’ Pull off in that… and them haters gon’ lose it Lose it, lose it, lose it, lose it Pull up in that… and them bitches start choosin’ Choosin’, choosin’, choosin’, choosin’ Pull off in that… and them haters gon’ lose it Lose it, lose it, lose it, lose it [Verse 2: wiz khalifa] Pull up pushin’ buttons, blowin’ og like it’s nothin’ Marijuana fussin’, smokin’ loud, it’s no discussion Black and yellow, black and yellow, somethin’ out of nothin’ Choppers like the russians, bust your head, that’s a concussion Full-time grinder, all-the-time hustlin’ Bitch I’m from the ‘burg, so you know that I be thuggin’ Made it from the bottom so in god we put our trust in Certified stoner, get up raw and put a nug in ‘raris, ‘raris, ‘raris, lamborghini, hara-kiri Suicidal doors, tell the owner I said “sorry” Pull up in that uno, pockets felt like sumo Taylor gang or die, jet la, la, la, la… [Hook: curren$y] [Verse 3: rick ross] My homies, we sold pills, the motive is chrome wheels Pullin’ up to club live, makin’ them hoes peel My niggas was way trill, wardrobe was unreal My cuban was spanish gold, so vintage was my gazelles I’m talkin’ the facts of life, can I just have a slice? Backseats at the game, ‘bron havin’ a night Let ‘em go check the stats, ‘cause all I want is the racks Even movin’ the merch, I’m gettin’ sixty a hat Mcm on my luggae, reebok makin’ me butter Be hittin’ cuban cigars, bumbaclot, he think he does this Double m, we the hottest on the fuckin’ turf I’m goin’ straight to heaven, crib built like a church [Outro: curren$y] Pull up in that… and them bitches start choosin’ Choosin’, choosin’, choosin’, choosin’ Pull off in that… and them haters gon’ lose it Lose it, lose it, lose it, lose it
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