cash kidd - dorky ass boy lyrics
[intro]
ayy+ayy, nah, huh
ayy, turn this sh+t up, man, i ain’t wastin’ no time
i’m finna ho y’all n+ggas
ayy
(p. dot got that pack)
[verse]
thought she was that until i showed her little freak ass
thought he was fresh until i hoed his little cheap ass
yo’ b+tch ass heavy and soft like a bean bag
ha, i bought her two cigarettes, one for your fiend ass
ayy, i hate a broke ass fake pimp (ayy)
n+gga beggin’ hoes for money, you a straight simp
homeless ass boy, what would you do if they didn’t make tints?
boy, you lucky you ain’t die of starvation (haha)
hangin’ ’round crabs in a bucket, feel like plankton
n+ggas hate me in my city ’cause i spank sh+t
hit a p+ssy n+gga where it hurt, f+ck his main b+tch
got a body on a pole like hangman
and ayy, got her on a tight string like i’m kyrie
shе just wanna shut the f+ck up and pay me my fee (ayy, ayy)
yeah, i feel likе i’m mike v, i got nike sneaks
i’m in arizona ic, that’s an ice tea
all strips, ten piece like a wing dinner (ayy)
out the way, low+key like i sing tenor
is it me or do my old friends seem bitter?
i’m froze, my neck so burr like it don’t drink liquor
just left your b+tch house with slob on my jean zipper
wait, before he had chicken, he was a pretender
wait, before i had chicken, i told him, “dream bigger”
they was sleepin’ on my lines like a lean sipper
remember? lavier, i know you remember
all them long talks about this vision, i see ’em clear
free them team members, gotta line up just to eat dinner (ayy, free the boys)
i’ma hold it down, guarantee, n+gga
ayy, how you fresh with no money? n+gga, sell them clothes
f+ckin’ b+tches every day, n+gga, sell them hoes
h+rny ass n+gga, ayy, n+gga
ayy, yo’ ass don’t need jesus, you need to sell yo’ soul
lame ass n+gga, ayy
ain’t got no money or no motherf+ckin’ opps, n+gga, sell yo’ pole
yeah, i smoke the best sh+t ’cause i’m a big dawg
you somewhere pullin’ on mid, n+ggas chris paul
big boss, woke up today to twenty missed calls
dorky ass boy ain’t got no b+tches, tryna list crawl
the thirty stick into the arms is like a lint ball
i’m at the bank with lead on me, ’bout to withdrawal
the hoes say you eat p+ssy the best ’cause yo’ d+ck small
lil’ n+gga, ayy (ha)
big cribs, whips, trophies, i keep droppin’ like a sprint call
ayy (ayy)
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