Mac Mall - P.O.P. lyrics
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Lyrics to P.O.P. : [CHORUS] It's paper over pussy, chips over a bitch Dough over a hoe, but suckers, they think with they dick It's dollars over nana, c-notes over a slut G's over breezies, yeah nigga, what's up? [VERSE 1: Mac Mall] Some more of it, how you want it, patented and proven potent Pockets bulgin, diamonds glowin, ain't no secret, we on one Lights, camera, action, muthafucka, it's mackin Release the Jacksons, let em go, they ain't go buy the captains And I'm a general that's spittin flows and peelin hoes Smokin dope, drinkin XO, but don't fuck with no chemicals Your wifey wanna try me, hook up and give me body But it's paper over pussy, break bread or get from by me Little mama, you fly, but I'm sharper than all Save that drama for partner, spendin up at the bar See, he like trickin chips, I just wanna put dick between your lips Hey, get another rock just for kicks, bust two nuts and then I switch Hey player, she with your, but if you know like I do You get further with baby, she lookin like she wanna choose And I'm one of those niggas that go hard on these bitches Make em pay for the game and always charge em interest [CHORUS] [VERSE 2: Mac Mall] You're owin me for knowin me and I'ma put ya down like you're 'posed to be Girl, give MC nose to me, let him pay rent and buy groceries Let that man play step daddy and take care of them kids If he knew how you was swallowin nuts, that fool'd have a fit See, I'm a savage, I get mannish when I'm doggin yo bitch You're sittin home on your punk ass, you sittin, be pussy-whipped Gotta be smokin that shit if you think she ain't gettin hit By Mister Iatola Komani from that Sesed Out click When you found out you was heart-broke, couldn't believe she was cut-throat But I ain't tryin to get comfortable, I'm just tryin to get my loot on These niggas off the hinges, lose they mind over these chickens Showin out for these tramps, and I forgot to mention She's goin both ways now, chassy, quick to lay it down Lip gloss and no drawers at the club wildin out Little turf dirt-ass bitch Lip gloss and no drawers, at the club wildin out [CHORUS] [VERSE 3: Mac Mall] Now I betcha I won't sweat her and I be damned if I jocked The broad top notch, a dime piece, to me they punk rock I give her a job and had the little chick on the clock Bringin me ??? while busters steady sprung on the twat You see, I rather count them big heads till my fingers ache Than have a fake fine bitch in my face, all in the way And Mister Mackin don't have breaks in my paper chase I have a breezy sellin her crate and transportin weight Cashin faulty checks in the bank She everything that daddy want she get and what she get I take I'm boss-gamin, boy, you're just small change And you'll forever be a sucker, for a guy, for a dame Look at them lames [CHORUS] Yeah nigga, what's up Yeah nigga, what's up Yeah nigga, what's up [x3] You know See man, these niggas claimin player But the whole time Man, they bonafide tricks Yeah, Femi on the beat Boss Game on the m-i-c It ain't nothin new, you know how we do [CHORUS] Mac Mall Sesed Out 535 proof Yeah nigga, what.. [ P.O.P. Lyrics on http://www.lyricsmania.com/ ]
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