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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Mac Dre
Mac Dre
Performer
Young Dru
Young Dru
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Mac Dre
Mac Dre
Composer

Lyrics

Ugh Wha, wha What is it? Yeah Yadidaholla Do you know whadddiholla (do you know what I holla?) Yeah, the itty bitty city by the water That's steady gettin taller Vallejo You hoe You just don't understand Check it out though Sippin' Martinis eatin scampi and linguini Makin' blunts disappear, like I'm Houdini Laid up with Asians that know tongue fu Gettin' blew when I got the call from Young Dru He was speakin thizzlamic but I can understand it He said "Al Boo Boo, the eagle has landed" My reply, Pronto, cousin Execute stage two, put the turkey in the oven' For those who don't know that means he got the blow And it's time to turn the blow into more dough Sell 'em high, buy 'em low, let 'em fly, let 'em go Birdies of the snow straight from Valley Jo Who got it? Nigga, Dru got it And if you hit him on the hip, he'll make sure that you got it Me and my team, we tryna win And we keep it mafioso, you hear the violins I'm the yay boy, the playboy, from the Bay, boy Where I stay, boy, we don't be puffin' no hay, boy Where my son head lay boy, I protect with the K, boy Run in my home and get sprayed, boy Young Dru and Mac Dre, boy The Yay don't play, boy I'm a made boy highly connected spit flame, boy I'm a paid, boy, spliffs of naid all day, boy Never changed, I'm the same, so fuck what you say, boy I'm not afraid, boy Take it from wax to gunplay, boy Run away, boy Shakin' the blades and gay boys Movin' bricks, boy Choppin' down kicks to picks, boy Weighin' zips, boy Takin' them trips for chips, boy Coppin' whips, boy Floss, cross by chicks, boy Makin' hits, boy Fuck with the mob and get split, boy Loaded and lit, boy Dre and Dru is the shit, boy From a fix to a bitch We tryna get rich, boy I'm in my sneaks with freaks on the beach was shallow Bossed up drinkin' Ernest and Julio Gallo (wine) I got my Roll-O, my butterfly knife I'm nothin' nice, I cut a guy twice All of my life I followed the path A D-Boy, B-Boy, have cash, live lav' Got game like Bob Costas, got dread like Rastas Eatin' seafood sauce put over pastas You imposters get tried for treason To the Nation of Thizzlam is my allegiance Write a grievance, file a complaint Tell 'em Dre doin' things that them other guys can't Burnin' rubber all day, drivin' wreckless I cut a man throat, give a man a bloody necklace Cuddie, they respect us 'cause they have to My niggas mafioso, you prick, they'll whack you!
Writer(s): Nathaniel Thomas Wilson Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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