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mbe mook - mob talk lyrics

we sliding in a four door coupe and that b-tch all black that n-gg- say he smoking pressure b-tch we smoke a whole pack i’ll pull up to your spot sliding in a h-llcat look at pockets they enormous i don’t call my sh-t fat b-tch and i’m in traffic with tru b i call that n-gg- glee he wipe your nose yeen gotta sneeze some of my n-gg-s cripping but i’m rocking with the b’s and i ain’t f-cking on these b-tches i just get em on they knees yea your n-gg- got shot you heard that choppa blast b-tch that p-ssy n-gg- was a opp shii got nasty every n-gg- getting pop we ain’t giving no p-sses and youngmob the military we living the fastest nineteen with two kids finna be a daddy i’m tryna blow up on a bag and make my mama proud git when this sh-t blow up i swear to god ima have the crowd lit these b-tches all up on my d-ck i swear i feel crowded all these n-gg-s some b-tches i don’t even want them round me they say i do this the best they need to gone crown me i might pull up in a vet or pull up in a crown vick and all my ice it’s so wet it might just leave the crowd sick yea b-tch i’m rolling with the gang they some f-cking rastas we the same n-gg-s sent em to the f-cking doctor they saw them hanging out the window with that f-cking choppa this sh-t i’m smoking is so strong like larry the lobster you fake you a flodger send them hations to rob you more money more problems f-ck the feds and the coppers got his b-tch she gone top us the gang solid no floppas we to fast you can’t stop us n-gg-s hating wanna rob us but let his -ss play find out where he stay hit him with that k n-gg- bet not jump no gate eating good look at my plate i’m moving fast i boost the rate i’m ymm i bang the eight heard he want smoke we slide like skates don’t want you hoes you not my taste you betta duck i’m finna spray like kodak said i’m with your bae h-ll nawl ian come to play bought a glock i paint it gray the feds on us i do the face your b-tch she dumb i think she laced she say she like the way i taste i said it’s up aye check the score my n-gg-s ready they gone blow hit your -ss in your nose make your b-tch touch her toes clutching b-tch i got my pole you run up you might end up swole big racks you know i keep a roll packed her sh-t and told that b-tch to go i’m thugging out in public you n-gg-s be thugging on the low

- mbe mook lyrics

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