Yeah, bitch say what's up, I said, uh
Nigga, flip a brick
Bitch ask me what's up, I said, uh
Pimp a bitch
Diamonds in the woodgrain wheel, nigga
Nigga, Kane
Golden State the roster, my garage deep
Floating in the foreign on massage seats
Yeah, keep, keep designer on a broad feet
I been water whippin' Earl Simmons, all my dawgs eat
44 Bulldog, all my dawgs bite
Flexin' AMG, pushin' redline through the red light
Spot a pussy boy with a red dot, bust a headshot
They got us in the scope, all this bread talk really fed talk
Yeah, nigga, f*ck it, get your money on
Still takin' calls on this money phone
Every Sunday morning, I hit Maurice with the MoneyGram
He was major league, I'm pitchin' softball, underhand
These niggas don't understand
This ain't for soccer mamas, this for the underground
Niggas was the shit last summer and now they numbers down
Rappers gettin' decked for they jewels, I keep that tool with me
I go Makaveli on Hugh's brothers, bitch, who the menace?
Yeah, Kane, nigga
And I was hittin' bitches, I'm talkin' 'bout
I was hittin' R&B bitches
When a nigga was broke and shit, you know what I'm sayin', nigga?
You know what I'm sayin'?
Platinum bitches, you know what I mean?
Bitches on the charts, you feel me? Yeah
You know what I mean, not just really big bitches tryna get on, you know what I'm sayin'?
Yeah, Kane Season
Yeah, nigga, f*ck it, get your money on
Still takin' calls on this money phone (Yo, what up?)
Every Sunday morning, Keshia hit me with the MoneyGram
Touchdown in the Chi and make that pussy do the money dance
I should have a tux on in this bitch, me and money make holy matrimony
Shot caller, put them shooters on you like D'Antoni
Top dollar, lock me up and I make the bond, no
Big baller, father, you my son like Lonzo (Bitch)
Entertainer with a lot of trap contacts
We pushin' packs 'cause in this rap, it ain't no max contract
With fifty on a nigga head, that's a trap contract
And catch him with a car full and push they whole shit back
Seats in the 600, push they whole shit back
I flip a flow and do a show and get the whole clique racks, bitch
Whippin' Earl Simmons, all my dawgs eat
Golden State the roster, my garage deep
Floating in the foreign on massage seats
Yeah, see, you gotta see, nigga, you know, you gotta understand (Yeah)
I'm from Gary, niggas ain't used to no, no foreign cars, you know what I'm sayin'? (F*ck nigga)
Like, I remember when
When that nigga Ced came through with the
C, C230 or some shit, C or E class, some shit
I'm like "Nigga? Get out that motherf*ckin' auntie Benz, nigga"
Freddie Gibbs And Madlib - Massage Seats Lyrics
Freddie Gibbs And Madlib - Massage Seats Lyrics
Official
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Yeah, bitch say what's up, I said, uh
Nigga, flip a brick
Bitch ask me what's up, I said, uh
Pimp a bitch
Diamonds in the woodgrain wheel, nigga
Nigga, Kane
Golden State the roster, my garage deep
Floating in the foreign on massage seats
Yeah, keep, keep designer on a broad feet
I been water whippin' Earl Simmons, all my dawgs eat
44 Bulldog, all my dawgs bite
Flexin' AMG, pushin' redline through the red light
Spot a pussy boy with a red dot, bust a headshot
They got us in the scope, all this bread talk really fed talk
Yeah, nigga, f*ck it, get your money on
Still takin' calls on this money phone
Every Sunday morning, I hit Maurice with the MoneyGram
He was major league, I'm pitchin' softball, underhand
These niggas don't understand
This ain't for soccer mamas, this for the underground
Niggas was the shit last summer and now they numbers down
Rappers gettin' decked for they jewels, I keep that tool with me
I go Makaveli on Hugh's brothers, bitch, who the menace?
Yeah, Kane, nigga
And I was hittin' bitches, I'm talkin' 'bout
I was hittin' R&B bitches
When a nigga was broke and shit, you know what I'm sayin', nigga?
You know what I'm sayin'?
Platinum bitches, you know what I mean?
Bitches on the charts, you feel me? Yeah
You know what I mean, not just really big bitches tryna get on, you know what I'm sayin'?
Yeah, Kane Season
Yeah, nigga, f*ck it, get your money on
Still takin' calls on this money phone (Yo, what up?)
Every Sunday morning, Keshia hit me with the MoneyGram
Touchdown in the Chi and make that pussy do the money dance
I should have a tux on in this bitch, me and money make holy matrimony
Shot caller, put them shooters on you like D'Antoni
Top dollar, lock me up and I make the bond, no
Big baller, father, you my son like Lonzo (Bitch)
Entertainer with a lot of trap contacts
We pushin' packs 'cause in this rap, it ain't no max contract
With fifty on a nigga head, that's a trap contract
And catch him with a car full and push they whole shit back
Seats in the 600, push they whole shit back
I flip a flow and do a show and get the whole clique racks, bitch
Whippin' Earl Simmons, all my dawgs eat
Golden State the roster, my garage deep
Floating in the foreign on massage seats
Yeah, see, you gotta see, nigga, you know, you gotta understand (Yeah)
I'm from Gary, niggas ain't used to no, no foreign cars, you know what I'm sayin'? (F*ck nigga)
Like, I remember when
When that nigga Ced came through with the
C, C230 or some shit, C or E class, some shit
I'm like "Nigga? Get out that motherf*ckin' auntie Benz, nigga"
Nigga, flip a brick
Bitch ask me what's up, I said, uh
Pimp a bitch
Diamonds in the woodgrain wheel, nigga
Nigga, Kane
Golden State the roster, my garage deep
Floating in the foreign on massage seats
Yeah, keep, keep designer on a broad feet
I been water whippin' Earl Simmons, all my dawgs eat
44 Bulldog, all my dawgs bite
Flexin' AMG, pushin' redline through the red light
Spot a pussy boy with a red dot, bust a headshot
They got us in the scope, all this bread talk really fed talk
Yeah, nigga, f*ck it, get your money on
Still takin' calls on this money phone
Every Sunday morning, I hit Maurice with the MoneyGram
He was major league, I'm pitchin' softball, underhand
These niggas don't understand
This ain't for soccer mamas, this for the underground
Niggas was the shit last summer and now they numbers down
Rappers gettin' decked for they jewels, I keep that tool with me
I go Makaveli on Hugh's brothers, bitch, who the menace?
Yeah, Kane, nigga
And I was hittin' bitches, I'm talkin' 'bout
I was hittin' R&B bitches
When a nigga was broke and shit, you know what I'm sayin', nigga?
You know what I'm sayin'?
Platinum bitches, you know what I mean?
Bitches on the charts, you feel me? Yeah
You know what I mean, not just really big bitches tryna get on, you know what I'm sayin'?
Yeah, Kane Season
Yeah, nigga, f*ck it, get your money on
Still takin' calls on this money phone (Yo, what up?)
Every Sunday morning, Keshia hit me with the MoneyGram
Touchdown in the Chi and make that pussy do the money dance
I should have a tux on in this bitch, me and money make holy matrimony
Shot caller, put them shooters on you like D'Antoni
Top dollar, lock me up and I make the bond, no
Big baller, father, you my son like Lonzo (Bitch)
Entertainer with a lot of trap contacts
We pushin' packs 'cause in this rap, it ain't no max contract
With fifty on a nigga head, that's a trap contract
And catch him with a car full and push they whole shit back
Seats in the 600, push they whole shit back
I flip a flow and do a show and get the whole clique racks, bitch
Whippin' Earl Simmons, all my dawgs eat
Golden State the roster, my garage deep
Floating in the foreign on massage seats
Yeah, see, you gotta see, nigga, you know, you gotta understand (Yeah)
I'm from Gary, niggas ain't used to no, no foreign cars, you know what I'm sayin'? (F*ck nigga)
Like, I remember when
When that nigga Ced came through with the
C, C230 or some shit, C or E class, some shit
I'm like "Nigga? Get out that motherf*ckin' auntie Benz, nigga"
Writer: Frederick Tipton, Otis Jackson
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management