[Intro w/ ad-libs] Get cool... Aye, ya know what they be talkin bout when they say I'm sick'ud man? I had to make this one shawty, I'm talkin' 'bout fo'real Ya know we be ballin to the point where we can't take it no mo' man.
[Chorus w/ ad-libs] Man I've been ballin' to the point where I'm sick'ud Kush steady fallin' out the blunt and I'm sick'ud These hoes tryin' to pull stunts and I'm sick'ud Grand Hustle make a million e'ry mont', I'm sick'ud Man I've been ballin' to tha point where I'm sick'ud Kush steady fallin' out tha blunt and I'm sick'ud These hoes tryin' to pull stunts and I'm sick'ud Grand Hustle make a million e'ry mont', I'm sick'ud
[Verse 1] Fuck that, I'm sick'ud, fish scale prickly This got irene cuts, I want a stick 'ud Hoes can't trick'ud, my dick they lick the tip'ud Everyday they test the choppa, they can get tha whole clip'ud Twenty-nine bitch! don't forget to add an inch'ud 30 inch Ashanti, I'm muthafuckin sick'ud Yea that shit was smokin, but I'd rather have this bud Ya broad gave me the pussy, she ain't want nothin but a key for'ud Drama, I am here for'ud, +King+ like +Clifford+ +Best Thang Smokin+, gon' take a damn whiff of'ud Cocaine game, everybody want a sniff of'ud Young Dro, e'rybody holla I'm sick'ud
[Chorus w/ ad-libs]
[Verse 2] Sick'ud believe me, ridin down Peach Street ATL and Dro, I just be hatin where the reefer be I can turn a block, and check a bitch who got a G for me I can hear 'em charge black legacy wit Cecil "C" CBE the click, that's where that bad ass reefer be Bottom of the list, that's where them mad ass people be Jag color cream of wheat, lyrics come in fever heat Diamonds on my daughter neck, same color as Tweety Tweet I can make the heater breathe, hanging out the Beemer Jeep Bitches say they fuck wit Dro, but they ain't never seen a "G" Drop top, green Chevy, thang look like a pickle too Ridin through the hood, all them hoes be like "I'm sick of youuuuuuu!"
[Chorus w/ ad-libs]
[Verse 3] When it come to ballin, I'm sick wit the cheese The charm on my neck, cost 8,000 three's (jumpers!) I'll sting a nigga, like 8,000 bees (bzzzz!) And gettin to the money here, 8,000 keys (that's my dough!) And tryin Dro, is like tryin 8,000 me's (that's a bunch of people!) Juve' cool, but this shit here is 8,000 degrees (wassup Juve!) I moved up out the hood, to a lakehouse in Belize (where you go?) I poison fake playas, and make 'em break out in disease (uuughhh) Bullets blow like a breeze, when they take off for ya knees (pow! pow!) .223's knock yo playas arms straight of ya sleeves (where my arm go?) Shawty please, I'm the sniper, plus I'm tha greatest I'm sick of you, ya'll niggaz need to stop hatin man, DROOOOOO!!
[ 1/2 Chorus w/ ad-libs]
[Outro w/ ad-libs] I'm sick of you, I'm sick Of you I'm sick of you, I'm sick of you I'm sick, I'm-I'm-I'm sick I'm sick, I'm-I'm-I'm sick I'm sick of you, I'm sick of you I'm sick of you, I'm Sick of you I'm sick of you, I'm sick Of you I'm sick of you, I'm sick of you I'm sick of you - DROOOOOO!!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
