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we on dat - rmc mike lyrics

[intro]
(ooh, sav k!lled it)
b*tch, yeah, and we on that
b*tch, we on that, hey, get his dome cracked
hey, we don’t condone that, n*gga, hey

[verse]
first day of class, i’m teachin’ n*ggas how to ball
so much drip inside my closet, i could start my own mall
b*tch, i’ma rap ’til i die, i’m in it for the long haul
brodie hit me from the feds, man, i missed his phone call
now i’m kinda p*ssed, never actin’ c*cky, i got confidence
crack daddy, next friday, fell on a pile of sh*t
ex b*tch left me for a lame, man, i’m kinda sick
when i’m hurt, i go and make some pape’, it’s a compliment
bust down rollie, it got boogers in the facе
forty shot clip, look like a ruler in the k
tryna buy somе cut lean, you can meet me in the 8
i’m slidin’ in the private jet, who gon’ beat me to the bay?
hands tied, but we run the game by a landslide
i can’t lie, i felt ciara when she made and i
always make the artist feel good, it’s a fan jive
f*ck her from the back off a perc’ with her hands tied
it’s a bag on the floor, tell ’em, “bring it to me”
make a b*tch hit a high note, she singin’ to me
it’s finna be a nasty night if she drinkin’ with me
sh*t, i’ll put her on a flight if she creepin’ with me
shoot a b*tch out of town, make her feel special
is you gon’ love my ass to death is the real question
weed stronk as h*ll, ain’t got no name, but it’s real pressure
my n*gga z makin’ dog sh*t off of meal preppin’
you gotta feed the city
how many people came with you? sh*t, an easy fifty
fan b*tch want an autograph, let me see your titties
they slid, but i bust back, he had jesus with him
we the street committee
freak b*tch bust it wide open for an orange box
nasty n*gga, i just poured some wock’ in the orange pop
it was good, though, my baby drac’ old as h*ll in the woodbro, this a hood joke
all*pink knot, fifty thousand up in fifties
ot walmarts always poppin’ with the gifties
man, i hate a cap rapper, tell ’em, “drop and give me sixty”
i do this sh*t for my team, so you poppin’ if you with me
warzone, b*tch, i keep an mp5 on my side
i don’t act gangsta actually ’til it’s time for me to ride
i wanna move out west but the economy too high
too much water on my neck, it been drownin’ me inside
i’m a saks fifther, b*tch, you play games, you a backflipper
young b*tch finessin’ everybody, she a catfisher
the first time you lied to a n*gga, made me act different
you can spend all your pape’, but i stack different
i tried to f*ck her from the side, sprung a back muscle
you tryna make it out the streets, you gotta add hustle
i’ma eat until i’m full for my last supper
i made five hundred thousand just last summer

- rmc mike lyrics

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