What up world, welcome to the major leagues Style's sick, quick to make a hater sneeze Baby girl, I'm just that official Need a tall glass of me just to wet your whistle I stay high, stay fly, I'm a frequent flyer I got the belt, I'm the king, call me Sire Mike Stud, but you can call me Vinny Chase I'm with the model chick Pretty face, skinny waist I dick her down, she needs CPR Then she want a replay, like DVR And I roll with the top dogs We shut the party down, like cop cars Next night I'm in the bar with some heavy hitters And the girls on our balls like spaghetti dinners I'm the kid with the glamour Willy Beamen, I live for the camera
Stand up, what now? Hands up, touchdown Touchdown, yeah everybody Put your motherfuckin' hands in the air [X2] Now bounce, come on, bounce, come on Bounce Come on, bounce Put your motherfuckin' hands in the air [X2] Now bounce, come on, bounce, come on Bounce Bounce, bounce, bitch
Fuck patience, I'm tired of waitin' I'm speeding to the top, it's a violation Green light, go and write the ticket So close to the top spot that I can sniff it You smell that? Yeah me too Catch me out in Maui with a brew on a ski doo What up girl, I know you like that Damn right come here, I know you like that Mike Stud, the cook, I got the recipe Sittin' on top of the bread like a sesame And I got my enemies in a frenzy Makin' memories while you're barely makin' ends meet Nobody sick as me, run y'all history Go on, get a clue, I'm an unsolved mystery And I do it on a day to day basis They try to hate, but you can't erase greatnessTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
