Текст песни Gonzoe - Got it Made
Gonzoe - Got it Made слова песни
[Gonzoe] (talking)Uh-oh, (uh-oh) here it go again (here it go)Oh fuck! (oh shit) shit, shake that shit bitchHuh, (yeah) yeah, it`s me, GonzoeCame to rock you mother fuckers right quickYou know what I`m sayin? Kick that thesolineKnow what I`m sayin [Verse 1 - Gonzoe]Nigga, I`m tryin to have it madeFuckin with mink and suedeHoppin out of jags on niggazWhen me shit parfaitLike LivaracheHoe, smell the heats of meakeeI`m too cockyMy life`s too rockySo fuck y`allNigga pissy off with meYou separate allIt means nothinI talk your bitch out the drawlsFor the fuck of itAnd turp off bumpinIt`s in the shedBounce to thisCause you feelin itRespect me killin it niggaI`mma be that rich catTell them niggaz where I hold my chips and whips atI`m a young nigga never found guiltyClean as fuck but still filthyWorkers on the corners tryin to milk meFor knowledgeLike `Damn! you smashin in college?`Big ass glots and keepin dollarsDon`t bother choppin work no moreI hit the liquor storeRelax with a glass of conyac and smokeNigga[Chorus - Gonzoe]I got it made! (got it made)Fuckin with mink and suede (mink and suede)All my pieces par madeBitch, I`m doin this shit my way (my way)Bitch, all us niggaz we got it madeI`m paid, fuckin with mink and suedeHoppin out of jags on niggaz (us)When me shit bumpayLike liveracheHoe, smell the heats of meakee (hoe)I`m too cockyMy ice too rockySo fuck y`all[Verse 2 - Gonzoe]Uh, it`s too much money to meY`all niggaz is actin fakePlaya-hatin, talkin up on my shit like Ricki LakeComin chili`s for hoesWhy you lyin bout who you know?Stay broke, never got no ervails on the smoke, lock the timmyFoo, you killin me, actin phonySittin on your cake with a round of homies, you`re pretty tonyGettin worked, cochberts, Versace, DomeinbergWhat you bought is what she wear when she go do dirtThe truth hurtAll the sameWith no backs to claimBut you slept because it was all part of the gameChorus[Verse 3 - Gonzoe]Yeah, y`all niggaz can`t touch meI`m spotless, you dustyMy pistol crustyAll the niggaz I wetThey all trust meTill the federals bust meOut for the dustyGangsta like BugsyLivin lavish up in luxuryThe Bombay, Mr.IcicleCome swallow the pickleUs dons all stressed and rippledIt ain`t a thingTryin to find this game manStack up for the droughtCause one day it`s gonna rainIn big dropsCop, blind side of my CyclopsAs it bubble, I watch the pattern transformTo rocks nigga, going to glocks, money in stacksCause he got this, and I got that (what)