2:22 Am – Baby Smoove

Yeah
Mind if I, I’m gonna call you back, I’m in the studio
It’s retarded

Hold on with my lighter, played him full like Michael Pfeiffer
Boy, I got no rivals, I can put that on the Bible
World champions, where my title?
Bitch, you get no title
Might lick it if I like you
Hang a nigga, I’m so spiteful
Told myself, “I think they like you”
It ain’t nothing like you
I’ll punch him like I’m right
You know I’m some of you niggas’ idols
(Ay) Said I feel like Omar Grant, my pint right out the fridge
Oops, I think I did, over pour it on purpose
Brodie got the cig’, Went in the club, I snuck it in
You fuck with me now, but I was thinkin’ since win
I did some hard thinkin’ can I swap you for your friend?
Make lil’ ho bend, use a Hemi or my Benz

I can’t make no money, then I’m leavin’
My bitch don’t do no teasin’
I ain’t gonna up her for no reason
I’mma always be in season (Yeah)
Spend it with no grievin’ (Ay)
Hangin’ with them demons (Ay)
Hangin’ with them heathens, fronts your move, you end up bleedin’
‘Cause I’m saucy for that tweakin’
Pull up till your party reakin’
I know that I’m a genius
All that, I feel like Keenan
Can’t hit my wood, I’m chiefin’
If I said it, then I mean it
Do you really mean it?
Real money, have you seen it?
Glock, pokin’ like some cleavage
Pull up for no reason
Only shot for the new seasons
Still droppin’ ’cause they need it