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timber lake - crispy concords, shotgun willy & yung craka lyrics

[verse 1: shotgun w*lly]
(yeah, yeah, yeah)
press one b*tton, now the roof gone
these dudes be b*tches like mulan
gettin’ more bread than a crouton
i’m swimming in the p*ssy like dewgong
my b*tch be hotter than tucson
still rich, but i’m f*cking on futons
strap stay with me like it’s glued on
just seen your b*tch sellin’ p*ssy on groupon
i’m fresh to death but i’m wildin’
i tell the b*tch to be quiet
i keep my cell phone on silent for when the hoes send pics of they privates
sh*t, we’re doin’ drugs like it’s the 80’s
me and craka, crispy like the a*team
why your mama wanna have my babies?
’cause i’m bringing s*xy back like j.t. (woo!)
[chorus: yung craka]
i’m makin’ these hits like i’m timberlake (woo*ooh)
private jet straight out to italy (woo*ooh)
she sucked me up on the interstate (woo*ooh)
your b*tch hit me up, man, you gettin’ played

[verse 2: crispy concords]
i done curved more b*tches than a squat rack
feel like jeff gordon, i’m on track
lost a couple m’s, imma make it right back
she wan’ f*ck, gotta hit her with a contract
yeah, she got the thighs like mewtwo but a face like drowzee
imma pass on that hoe like rowley
imma still go and get me that mouth*y
hit it once, now it got me feeling lowsy
ugh, tryna stimulate the census, f*ck her five times
enough money to last a couple lifetimes
f*cking b*tches while i’m filming in my downtime
i’m all up in her guts, feeling like an enzyme
ay, ay, that p*ssy bald, imma make*a*wish
ay, these boys are starving, come and grab a dish

[bridge: yung craka]
ay, you already know that my b*tch is bad
me and yo’ mama, go picture that
b*tch, look at me, i’m your richer dad
ay, throw it back, make it clap, throw it back
throw it back, make it clap, throw it back
[chorus: yung craka]
i’m makin’ these hits like i’m timberlake (woo*ooh)
private jet straight out to italy (woo*ooh)
she sucked me up on the interstate (woo*ooh)
your b*tch hit me up, man, you gettin’ played

[verse 3: shotgun w*lly & crispy concords]
yuh, i made a bag off the net like icarly
off the top i spit, i’m jeff hardy
play girls like barbies
got white boys talking like “dude, gnarly”
back inside this b*tch, i never left though
she gon’ suck my d*ck, until she strep throat
right inside your b*tch, and then i left though
said i’m gon’ be broke, you wanna bet though?
get, get, get, get along
just passed third base, now we headed home
like marvin g*ye, let’s get it on
imma do the deed like i’m doug dimmadome
make another hit, reloading
give your girl the heimlich, she choking
said i loved the b*tch, i’m joking
tell me why i just started stroking? (what the f*ck?)

- crispy concords shotgun willy yung craka lyrics

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