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apt 10 - pac div lyrics

[intro]
(swiff d)
aye, aye…

[verse 1: mibbs]
i need a favor, homie
hit the liquor store and get me a pack of raw papers
you can picture me in dispensaries
’bout to get to taste, all the flavors
ten bad b-tches in my apartment
makin’ noise, walkin’ all the neighbors
black locs with the house shoes on pico like “what’s up, ese?“
you be hatin’ like a motherf-cker
she a ho but you wanna love her
“hey man, they be talkin’ all kinds of sh-t about you!“
shut the f-ck up
you the type of n-gga back in high school
that we used to stuff in the locker
snitch -ss n-gga, b-tch -ss n-gga
always run you mouth to mister clock

[hook]
ten bad b-tches in my apartment
(you have ten bad b-tches in your apartment)
ten bad b-tches in my apartment
(you have ten bad b-tches in your apartment)
i got ten bad b-tches in my apartment
(you have ten bad b-tches in your apartment)
right now
ten bad b-tches in my apartment
(you have ten bad b-tches in your apartment)

[verse 2: beyoung]
i’ma cross my t’s, dot my i’s
swoop the v, right on time
that’s with d, baby, my oh my (baby, my oh my)
won’t you please get a drummer, some?
double 0-7 flexin’ in a c-mmerbund
keep a cold game form while you cut it up
brought back and now a piece need another one
i’ll go, meta flips, let her tumble some
this n-gga right here be a wonder one
trick and trina, man, n-gga
it’s quick to see the way i freakin’ see it
ain’t no mixin’ me with no gl-ss, n-ggas
came through the dough on snapchat
ten blunts later and had a flat back
f-ck around, slide two, set it back, back
off a few haikus and the yack black
been a young tycoon, cross the nap jack
bet i cause typhoon if the gat fat
got ten rachel rays whippin’ flap jacks
make ’em pay what they weigh, where the cash at?
wouldn’t play lemonade, that’s a rat trap
got a becky with the good hair, lexi with the hood hair
both tryin’ to find where they tracks at (where they tracks at?)
that how you mack that

[verse 3: like]
smoking papers or it’s vapers
team as stacked as golden state is
independent n-ggas take it
no more favors, y’all gon’ pay us
you been hatin’, we been patient
pull up straight to your location
gps in the cts, you don’t see bs, i’m at cvs
you see me blessed
i know the game, i should be a ref
follow the rules or you’ll meet your death
to walk in my shoes, you need jesus steps
lord have mercy, bored his verse be
extra sauce, no extra cost, that pace pincante
green money, my favorite entree
split it three ways with my compadres
smokin’ backwoods, playin’ guapoley
gettin’ closer to where my goals is
yeah, i’m older, but i got colder
i’m bipolar, i’m not sober
don’t mix hennessy with no soda
drink it straight up, get your weight up
big old -ss with a little a cup
she wide open, it’s a lay up, like—

- pac div lyrics

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