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letra de whoopty doopty - $weet-t

[intro]
(jaylap)

[verse]
got the game in my hand, no psp
dutch shootin’ sh-t like cp3
game got your b-tch out the psds
gang in this b-tch with arps
gang in this b-tch, we turnin’ up
chop it down and burn it up
choppin’ it up with the burner on me
dutch’ll burn you down with the chopper first
i heard you bad, my flock is worse
i swear be cursed with bein’ blessed
lames call big $weet to clean the mess
i’m makin’ plays like ron artest
ron just called, said, “meet at 10”
brand-new glock, boy, guess the gen
you think sh-t sweet? guess again
i revive your ass, get you stretched again
hoes dodgin’ you ’cause you a scrub
and callin’ $weet for the midnight rub
every time i hit the lodgе, you would think i’m playin’ midnight clubs
smokin’ super duper, on the e-way dodgin’ supеr troopers
chopper clean your sh-t up, call this b-tch the f-ckin’ p–per scooper
pass the rock off to darell, but i ain’t no f-ckin’ hooper
in the whip, we bumpin’ future, makin’ plays, bust them maneuvers
$weet be goin’ ha-ha-ha while lames be talkin’ all that rah
seven sixty deuce’ll hit your ass and give you back to jah
hoobinga stock on the k, i picked it up like ooh-la-la
if you ain’t talkin’ ’bout no money, all i hear is blah-blah-blah
you ain’t talkin’ ’bout no money, all i hear is grunts and sounds
tryna run off with my money, dutch’ll come and hunt you down
dutch hittin’ sh-t like derek jeter, we some steppers, y’all some tweeters
with my tweakers smokin’ jeters, textin’ back my plays in eaters
all my hoes some divas, all your b-tches look like jeepers creepers
carti frames on top my peeper got your bop on top my peter
tryna get his b-tch back, but $weet be on that finders-keepers
chopper on my lap, i call that b-tch the “motor city sleeper”
trap spot got a garden greeter, how you slidin’ down in the beater?
hide your ho before i meet her, you think you sweet, but, b-tch, i’m sweeter
irene just popped a 30, said she need thirty more
every quarter that i serve weigh seven thirty-four
my clique the type to see the opps out and mop the f-ckin’ floor
my new ‘fit clean as h-ll, my pop dirty as your drawers
think you gettin’ down on $weet ’til i up the f-ckin’ score
you can’t hang around my team ‘less you desensitized to gore
my fiends don’t even like this sh-t, they be doin’ dope like chores
my chop sound like the kid from shrek, this b-tch’ll do the f-ckin’ roar (do the roar)
got the hammer tucked like thor, $weet be livin’ by the sword
dutch’ll pop you in the top and burn your body like a s’more
unc’ll always scr-pe the pot, my work’s inauguratin’ sports
my plug stay sippin’ drank, and he’s heavy on the pour

- weet t

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