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letra de 3 sum - dj scheme

[intro: robb bank$]
yo bam, this a hit, big hit
ayy bam, this, this sh-t might be a hit right here
you know we thuggin’, broward county to the death, n-gga
you already know, n-gga, f-ck that n-gga
what? what?
yeah, yeah, yeah

[chorus: robb bank$]
i like head, i like p-ssy
i like that mouth, but i don’t like kissin’
i like threesomes and multiple b-tches
i like felicia, i like genie
i like ridin’ that b-tch like a pony
i like to get my hands dirty ’bout my dodi
i know i make a b-tch thick, let her suck me (yeah)
heard your wrist tickin’ loud with that fake-ass rollie, p-ssy

[post-chorus: robb bank$]
whoa, whipped out a twelve inch, said that taste it like candy (yeah, mwah)
whoa, how the f-ck you walk past me and you ain’t ‘bow down to me (mwah)
whoa, i get a lil’ money and i can’t even talk to these p-ssies (yeah, mwah)
whoa, i seen a n-gga dead in the streets, i can’t say nothin’, no

[verse: robb bank$]
you got a jwett, don’t cuff that sh-t
you lovin’ that thot, don’t cuff that b-tch
i got yo’ pension on my wrist
i could pay your tuition if i wave my hand
need a bachelors degree, i’ma bachelor b-tch
in her dorm room at ucf
feel like b2k, shirt off, lil’ fizz
i’m immature, baby, you know what it is
i feel like marques houston when i jump out of the car
batman ‘rarri, pullin’ up like, “eugh”
leather jacket, margiela like fonzy
‘member when i was locked up in the country
mama threw all my pints down the toilet
and officer walsh keep lookin’, tryin’ to find me
so my lil’ brother cry when we lost our granny
turned bpsn when a n-gga met manny
i can’t talk to these n-ggas at all
if your 430, i’m tryna see a n-gga ball
ball, ball, ball, ball, ball that vibe
my ex post a story, i ain’t watch at all
i done got tired to the audi
a b-tch gotta rolls royce truck me
gave a caribbean hoe that c-ck
[chorus: robb bank$]
i like head, i like p-ssy
i like that mouth, but i don’t like kissin’
i like threesomes and multiple b-tches
i like felicia, i like genie
i like ridin’ that b-tch like a pony
i like to get my hands dirty ’bout my dodi
i know i make a b-tch thick, let her suck me (yeah)
heard your wrist tickin’ loud with that fake-ass rollie, p-ssy

[post-chorus: robb bank$]
whoa, whipped out a twelve inch, said that taste it like candy (yeah)
whoa, how the f-ck you walk past me and you ain’t ‘bow down to me
whoa, i get a lil’ money and i can’t even talk to these p-ssies (yeah)
whoa, i seen a n-gga dead in the streets, i can’t say nothin’, no

- dj scheme

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