a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

yn jay - ladadada lyrics

(intro sample)
money is not everything, it’s the only thing
yaaah!
sh+t!
ay!
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
(verse 1)
this is not no dog sh+t, this a f+cking gat, hey
this b+tch sellin’ cat, she gon’ f+ck for gas, hey
(mumbling ad+lib) she wanna f+ck the rapper
hey, she know i’m coochie man, she wanna f+ck a rapper
(mumbling ad+lib) you a f+cking capper, hey
heeey, hmmmm
(mumbling ad+lib)
i turned around, shooting, got me busting backwards
who dropped the airtag in this car? this ain’t no f+cking tracker, hey
you know when i pull up, you ain’t even f+cking ‘llowed to ask for sh+t, hmm
her friends get to slackin’, makе me bust twice
hey, i thought shе wanted me, she wanna f+ck mike
like how these b+tches pray? they only bust twice
he scared to hit the club, i got him drunk twice
we went to the club for one night, but i got drunk twice
i only bought two cups ’cause that mean i’m drunk twice
blah+blu+blah+blu+blah+blu+blah+blu+blu
hey, she gave me a pen and told me sign her coochie
(chorus)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
(verse 2)
you know i’m pullin’ up and i’m with tay roc
you know you gotta bring your friend ’cause i’m with 8 roc
aye, you know you gotta have a friend for little d, hey
you know that ho you love, man, she in love with me
you know i’m jumpin’ in, if it’s my brother b
you know this ain’t your block, this is my brother’s street, hey
you know this ain’t my gun, this my brother’s heat
aye, you know we pullin’ up when we a hunnid deep
why the f+ck you trying to race me? you can’t run with me
aye, i’m finna walk you down, you better not run from me
this b+tch pulled up to my office and ate lunch with me, aye
beat a n+gga ass, you can’t punch with me
and we can put the gloves on and go behind the crib
i get to beefin’, get real, i’m at your mama crib
this n+gga got a car but he ain’t got a crib
he got shot below his chest, now he ain’t got no ribs
like how i got a son and i ain’t got no kids?
and babies can’t come to my house cause i don’t like your kids
they bad as h+ll
they always doin’ somethin’, got me mad as h+ll, aye
n+gga did ten, got out, and went back to jail
you must like the jail, you must like your cell
this n+gga f+cked his custo, you must like yourself
i call bro phone, i didn’t write no mail
he had a phone in jail
i’m finna call a demon, i ain’t know that they had phones in h+ll
i walked past your b+tch, she got a whiff of my cologne smell
this n+gga boomin’ dope out his crib, he make home sales
(chorus)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)
la+da+da+da (yeah!)

- yn jay lyrics

Random Lyrics

HOT LYRICS