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letra de ladadada - yn jay

(intro sample)
money is not everything, it’s the only thing
yaaah!
sh-t!
ay!
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
(verse 1)
this is not no dog sh-t, this a f-cking gat, hey
this b-tch sellin’ cat, she gon’ f-ck for gas, hey
(mumbling ad-lib) she wanna f-ck the rapper
hey, she know i’m coochie man, she wanna f-ck a rapper
(mumbling ad-lib) you a f-cking capper, hey
heeey, hmmmm
(mumbling ad-lib)
i turned around, shooting, got me busting backwards
who dropped the airtag in this car? this ain’t no f-cking tracker, hey
you know when i pull up, you ain’t even f-cking ‘llowed to ask for sh-t, hmm
her friends get to slackin’, makе me bust twice
hey, i thought shе wanted me, she wanna f-ck mike
like how these b-tches pray? they only bust twice
he scared to hit the club, i got him drunk twice
we went to the club for one night, but i got drunk twice
i only bought two cups ’cause that mean i’m drunk twice
blah-blu-blah-blu-blah-blu-blah-blu-blu
hey, she gave me a pen and told me sign her coochie
(chorus)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
(verse 2)
you know i’m pullin’ up and i’m with tay roc
you know you gotta bring your friend ’cause i’m with 8 roc
aye, you know you gotta have a friend for little d, hey
you know that ho you love, man, she in love with me
you know i’m jumpin’ in, if it’s my brother b
you know this ain’t your block, this is my brother’s street, hey
you know this ain’t my gun, this my brother’s heat
aye, you know we pullin’ up when we a hunnid deep
why the f-ck you trying to race me? you can’t run with me
aye, i’m finna walk you down, you better not run from me
this b-tch pulled up to my office and ate lunch with me, aye
beat a n-gga ass, you can’t punch with me
and we can put the gloves on and go behind the crib
i get to beefin’, get real, i’m at your mama crib
this n-gga got a car but he ain’t got a crib
he got shot below his chest, now he ain’t got no ribs
like how i got a son and i ain’t got no kids?
and babies can’t come to my house cause i don’t like your kids
they bad as h-ll
they always doin’ somethin’, got me mad as h-ll, aye
n-gga did ten, got out, and went back to jail
you must like the jail, you must like your cell
this n-gga f-cked his custo, you must like yourself
i call bro phone, i didn’t write no mail
he had a phone in jail
i’m finna call a demon, i ain’t know that they had phones in h-ll
i walked past your b-tch, she got a whiff of my cologne smell
this n-gga boomin’ dope out his crib, he make home sales
(chorus)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)
la-da-da-da (yeah!)

- yn jay

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