get on the dance floor and come on I feel good I mean, I don't mean to brag, but Custom green suit, apple gators hundred thousand on my wrist Pinky shining
Hey yo Mike stop the beat because I got to go to the bathroom [CHORUS] You can always catch the Kottonmouth Kings Rollin' on the interstate highways Through the deserts to the mountains to the shining
let a motherfucker come stop me. To getting this cheese to getting this dough. Ain't no way no way imma let a motherfucker come stop me. Juvenile You can't stop
's my, he's my latest accessory They see my Gucci bag Peep in my Juicy tag They like the shoes I wear Already got it, everyone stop it They wanna see me shine The latest custom
be a millionaire Playa hatas best beware Don't hate on mine When you want that sim to shine Don't hate on mine When you want that sim to shine Nigga
I don't deserve nothing I got I grew up in the spot, my sleep was interrupted by customers knocks some of y'all should just stop the anomosity you got
don't beef long 'cause we gon' creep all night So I hope you don't sleep all night - we on your street all night Say, aw aw, I don't want your boy to
about it but they acted like asses They don't know we can't let this life pass us Jet black hair, shaded eye glasses Standing on the bus stop like a poster
out here reppin' they hood You don't even wear ya new shit Cause you ain't ready to brawl man I bump you, and you ain't even do shit You can smell the
Lurch] Don't hate on mine when you want that sim to shine! Don't hate on mine when you want that sim to shine! [Verse 1: Yukmouth] Nigga. Let's do
be here to see my seeds, when they have they seeds, As long as I breathe there ain't nothing in this world that they can't be, Yeah I done fucked up,
cremate him but he still exist I'm limitless envision this is genesis Ima rep thug-a-cation 'til I'm spiritless The revelations of a lyricist I CAN'T
and I don't stutta' Polishin' da thrown in Compton Muthafucka! [Verse 3] I can't forget about da Hustlers in da hood same Sean John Jeans as yesterday Waitin' fo' da Customas
can't stop me Get the g's lit, like John Gotti Front and get smushed cheesed up like chron' shotty By any means, yo I bag mommies, see his little posse Can
the triggers close to my finger Yo gal big digdin the ride but can you blame em Now if you look and see 84 glass here gleamin you couldn't get this shine