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letra de my 9 to 5 - jt the bigga figga

[verse 1: jt the bigga figga]
daydreamin’ of a place to hit
make gs and come legit
waitin’ outside all mothaf-ckin’ day
plottin’ on babylon, watchin’ ballet
comin’ to the shows in furs and rings
fresh–ss cars and fancy gold things
thinkin’ they got it made
but a security guard, who barely gets paid
me and my n-ggas, gonna get sick
happy as f-ck, ’cause we gonna pull a l!ck
pop on a sucka, if we have to
there goes one [?] says matthew
b-tch that he’s with, really looks thick
wanna go and get ’em? yeah they look rich
get [?] put your gloves and your mask on
if they fight back, they’re gonna get popped on ’em
i’m anxious as f-ck, they got money i bet
he’s pullin’ out the keys to his brand new ‘vette
young seff grabbed the n-gga, dee-moe grabbed the b-tch
i got the money and the gold and sh-t
that was smooth didn’t have to shoot
hit the spot, to divide the loot
rollin’ three deep in a f-ckin’ two-seater
i got the mac they got the nine millimeter
just three young n-ggas comin’ up ya see
down with the ‘moe and the ybg
and it’s time to get it on
i know a l!ck for some color tvs and some cellular phones
with a big ol’ sign say “i’ma get’cha”
with a straight laced pit and a doublemint picture
just runnin’ around in a center
hopin’ they can catch some dinner
slippin’ on that property
i’m gotta get what’s mine and ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me
’cause that’s the way it’s done on the city streets
handle your business and make your ends meet
and if you can’t then you a sucka
apply for welfare you tummy tucker
hopped in the road runner
got to the spot, hopped out with the bolt cutters
thinkin’ ’bout g stacks
a mink coat on my back, a rolex and a fat sack
of dank, to kick it with
and a [?] benz, with a proper kick
hopped the fence with the swiftness
cut the chain with the quickness
popped the trunk and readied the load
42 inch, remote controls
and it ain’t stir fry
got more sh-t than circuit city and good guys
come to make a move
make the drop, in back of the high school
and give me a quarter, so i can call ’em
talk to bonafide ballers
’cause they got, gs to sacrifice
ready to spend on the merchandise
now i can kick it and live fat
right
with my 9 to 5

9 to 5, 9 to 5
get your 9 to 5
yeah
get your 9 to 5
we gonna tell ’em how we do it on the set
you know, it’s like this
get your 9 to 5
get your 9 to 5

[verse 2: gigolo]
pop that sh-t, pop that sh-t mane
it’s poppin’ in the set and my money is right
it’s the 15th i knew the day would be hype
just sold my last rock, now it’s time to roll
mask of in the ‘lark, threw my sh-t in the load
went to fill up the tank, twisted up the dank
i give thanks and praise and let my doja stank
past two [?] n-ggas outside hangin’
same old sh-t, youngsters slangin’ and bangin’
dip down to the valley, see my n-gga young lion
chill for a minute, to get my drink on
the sun was straight beamin’ so i dropped my top
candy paint, gold tones, gigolo don’t stop
flex down to the ave, to check my trap
hoes flockin’ like birds, but i got no rap
but now off to the jets oc that is
business as usual, n-ggas checkin’ their grip
in fillmore, i do whatever i please
i’m outta frisco, home of the ybgs
and for those who don’t know about my n-gga rob lowe
get on the mic for your boy gigolo

[rob lowe]
i make that music sound sweet with my rhymes all the time
[?] to the point where no man has been before
see i score, ball gangsta style lyrics
you gotta understand the permit that is needed
to represent some real sh-t
i’m hittin’ hard, hard to hit, and too legit to quit
so split, before i sick my pit
bull, i got pull, to call the shots
and makin’ the plot, i’m shankin’ the c-ck-pea
i picked a peac-ck to pluck the feathers
whether it’s a talent show or not
rob lowe will rock the spot
for the shows, the blows, the blows
so here we go, i like to flow
and grow to be the best
from all the rest, i don’t flex
don’t need a bulletproof vest on my chest
weighin’ 150 don’t feel no pity
never f-ck with a b-tch that’d wear them sh-tty
drawers, for all of y’all that’s curious, i’m furious
i’m not a sagittarius, i’m a libra
i tell a b-tch, “i don’t need ya”
i’m dirty

- jt the bigga figga

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