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fleetwood x ducati james - yanka lyrics

[intro – fleetwood]
ho strip it down to the bare minimum
ho strip it down
strip it, strip it down
(x2)

[chorus – ducati james]
swear the got ’em going bonkers
play ’em like a tonka
they do what she want cuz they gon’
they do what she want cuz they gon’
do it all for yanka, yanka, yanka
do it all for yanka, yanka, yanka

[chorus – fleetwood]
marilyn monroe
mari-marilyn monroe
(x 2)

[chorus – ducati james]
presidential b-tch she give me head till i explode
presidential b-tch she give me head till i explode

[verse 1 – ducati james]
she gon’ get the big tip
yea, i got a big d-ck
shawty got that thick -ss
i can make it drip drip
treat her like a sl-t
she’ll do anything to get rich
put it in her b-tt, bull it out before it tick tick
i call her marilyn monroe
presidential b-tch, she give me head till i explode
give her whiplash, that’s that indiana jones
she don’t need a pimp, she independent on the low
ay, yuh
triple d and a triple beam
louboutin, tom ford and a gucci fiend
provocative provocateur, 40 for a scene
hit record, make some gold for the silver screen
he want some yanka, she just want some prada
he want some love, man, she just want a dolla’
he make an offer, and she make it larger
she ride that surfboard, call her mrs. carter!

[verse 2 – ducati james]
i’m goin’ broke, i just wanna stripper ho
im shippin’ dope, yea i’m into flippin’ flows
you can get it and i swear that i am living hope
she tryna’ choke, lemme see if i can give her rope
let me see if she can l!ck it
stay on my b-lls, so my hoes don’t ever kick it
i make her drop it to the floor like its a picnic
she got that k!lla-k!ll, put it on a hitlist
or put that p-ssy on a magazine cover
she on some pills, pimpin’, seroquel covers
she bleed mustard, that yellow bone l!ckin’ me sucka’
it’s money over god and money over m-th-f-ckas
like

[bridge – fleetwood]
ho strip it down to the bare minimum
ho strip it down
strip it, strip it down
(x2)

[verse 2 – fleetwood]
i keep that white girl, yea
lizzie mcguire, yea
that couchie’s fire, yea
burst like a geyser
blah!
i walk in the mall and i’m poppin’ my collar
i buy her the gucci, i give her the gwalla
i open her up and i eat it like dahmer
i give her the d and then i sayonara
blah!
i loaded the clip and i’m sprayin’ the choppa
more money, more money, more money, more problems
i loaded the whip and i’m countin’ the commas
more money, more money, more money, more options
more money, more money, more money, more ganja
more money, more money, more money, more lobsters
more money, more money, more money, more yanka!

- fleetwood x ducati james lyrics

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