Latino Heat, Pt. 2

Lyrics

[Verse 1: A$ton Matthews] I'm Vince McMahon with the automatic Got the pussy, got the power and the dollars comin', [?] static Hit 'em up, never worry 'bout it Do my shit and never say a word about it Young Iraq boys Click clack brrrat boys Chopper like a turban, handsmade I'm a serpent, swervin' in a Bourbon, stone cold servin' Woop, run up in your shit, give me all that Put your brain where the wall at Put your bitch on the strip Till she bring it all back, show, show me the money Show me where the jars at, give her dick Never call back, so tell me what you call that I think that I'm [?] Hello, ladies It's Young Brick Flair in that CL 'Cedes And she gon' [?] me So cuff that bitch if she owe baby Move birds like a parakeet Like a game got a pair of seats, front row Big pop a punk, it's a gun show You think it's a game till they unload Versace, versace, versace, versace She working the top till the tip of it sloppy Versace, versace I woot for my troop, I got [?] papi And they pilot, day and nights, I don't doubt it Them body parts start pilin' I shoot without a co-pilot, stylin' [Interlude: Bodega Bamz] You know when me and A$ton connect it's always motherfuckin' real My Cali connect and all that We might cutthroat a nigga Take his whole fucking head off to get that chain, nigga [Verse 2: Bodega Bamz] Another show, another dollar Another bitch, another body Another nigga feeling sour Same nigga catch a homy Independent nigga making major moves How I play the game, like I made the rules Live wire, told labels I refuse Short circuit, shot fired, I make the news Rock the bell so I paid dues Who the fuck is you? It's an up and coming nigga with a point Like the pencil don't break, when I show these number twos Hit him with the lei, hit a nigga dead, 187 Whoever do the most talking be the one tellin' Body in the trunk be the one smellin' Put your ear on the wall, she the one yellin' Yep, that pussy soaking, she like it I pillow talk but she bite it I fuck these hoes and you wife it I keep a G and you type it Never been a fuck nigga You know what I rep, 100 Keep It buck nigga I can tell you don't shoot, keep it tucked, nigga I say nigga 'cause I can nigga, what, nigga? Mastermind but I dropped out Knocked out right hook, cut a face when the box out They ain't seen this much passion since 2Pac I'm knee deep, hide the crack in my tube socks Money clean but I'm looking for a sucia [?] gun but she really love the chupa Like my next door neighbor call her punca Keep down the noise [?] puta! [Outro: A$ton Matthews] These motherfuckers ain't ready for none of that They ain't ready for none of that Talking that bullshit on this motherfucker You know what I'm saying? Cutthroat boys, Tanboys in this motherfucker From the East to the West side Nigga, that's how we giving this shit up What's up? Do something, nigga Choppin' on sight Chop, chop, choppin' on sight Chop, chop, choppin' on sight Chop, chop, choppin' on sight Chop, choppin' on sight Chop, choppin' on sight Chop, chop, choppin' on sight Yeah, we choppin' on sight Choppin' on sight Chop, chop, choppin' on sight Chop, chop, choppin' on sight Yeah, we choppin' on sight Yeah, we choppin' on sight Yeah, we choppin' on sight Yeah, we choppin' on sight Lord