Lyrics

MoF: Yi, yo all my shorties got them booty-do's Same story, its true since yelling hootie hoo (hootie-hoo!) A bunch of native speakers through and through And still confuse there and their, two and too Love em, even though their grammars horrid MoF knowing for slapping cheeks, leave them rather florrid Agh Its not because they can't afford it All my shorties can't fit designer - only rock torrid All for it You know a ganger still recluse(?) up inside a house of ill repute Like every week initiates a system cu- re,boot They wondering whats slated next Awaited death with some bad baited breath Check Just memorize the entry code And watch your six - busy street, empty road These old haters out here keying teslas Thats why a ganga' stay in sentry mode Pshh, agh Saw someone out the gates get murked, Nahm sayin? Ooooh Ahhhh EP: How you identify your fries? Poutine? disco? pisco punch A bunch of the cisco Edit your tight wound, Light room, VSCO San fernan, fran and louis abispo No Its hardly bang bros, partly anglo-hoes, arty lange nose Me and the yardie yank clothes for bank rolls Off your stank shorty with the swank swole cankles Need a liase for the fees, senegalese teas, chimays to chablis Jeez, to their dismay - never please No matter how cleverly we seize guarantees Zoonatic disease, bubonic fleas - at ease Tease a euphonic(?)... My liege, we breeze light speed(?) Gangaz under siege slanging dungarees