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letra de mob shit - scy jimm

[intro]
(rjbanks on the beat)
(can’t get down with the mob) yeah
(i had to let that .40 grrlah, extendo pop)
ayy (n-gga)
(can’t get down with the gang) yeah
(make that .40 bang) we extendo gang
fah, gloww
yeah, ayy
mmm, it’s y— gloww (fah, fah)
boww, yeah (yeah), hmm-hmm, ayy (gang sh-t)
ayy, ayy, f-ck n-gga (b-tch), ayy, ayy, gang sh-t (gang sh-t)
ayy, ayy, mob sh-t (gang sh-t)
[chorus]
n-gga, we ain’t cool, you can’t get down with the mob (get down with the mob)
where the f-ck you was when i was outchea tryna rob, n-gga? (ayy, when i was outchea tryna rob)
where the f-ck you was when we had shootouts with the opps? (we had shootouts, gloww, boww)
thought this sh-t was sweet, i had to let that .40 pop (i had to let that .40 go)
i’m slidin’ with a bis-xual glock up in the coupe (ayy, hey, why?)
‘causе this b-tch’ll blow at n-ggas, b-tches, too (ayy, b-tches, too)
they say a young n-gga couldn’t gеt they racks, i’m livin’ proof (b-tch, i’m livin’ proof)
criss angel money, i drop that bag, you gon’ go poof (ayy, he gone)

[verse]
make a n-gga body shake with this fn (hoo, gloww)
i put thirty on my glock like i’m stephen (ayy, come on, man)
y’all must use the elevator ’cause y’all ain’t steppin’ (ayy, on god, n-gga)
young n-gga hot, booth catch on fire every time i step in (hoo, hoo)
blue tips and blue strips (huh?)
can’t do no dirt with n-ggas, all y’all got loose lips
hey, f-ck lil’ shawty good, now she got loose hips
hit yo’ block, you better duck like it’s a f-ckin’ goose here, n-gga (gloww, ayy, gloww, ayy, gloww, yeah)
three-five in my ‘wood, i don’t play for the nets (i don’t play for the nets)
i was skippin’ school (ayy), you was teacher’s pet, n-gga
k5 in the cut, he tryna find some sh-t to stretch
shawty ride the d-ck just like a bike, she know i’m next

[chorus]
n-gga, we ain’t cool, you can’t get down with the mob (get down with the mob)
where the f-ck you was when i was outchea tryna rob, n-gga? (ayy, when i was outchea tryna rob)
where the f-ck you was when we had shootouts with the opps? (we had shootouts, gloww, boww)
thought this sh-t was sweet, i had to let that .40 pop (i had to let that .40 go)
i’m slidin’ with a bis-xual glock up in the coupe (ayy, hey, why?)
’cause this b-tch’ll blow at n-ggas, b-tches, too (ayy, b-tches, too)
they say a young n-gga couldn’t get they racks, i’m livin’ proof (b-tch, i’m livin’ proof)
criss angel money, i drop that bag, you gon’ go poof (ayy, he gone)

- scy jimm

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