Chanel Mo. Fever Lyrics

Chorus: It's in the back y'all It's on the wall y'all It's in your head, but it's not the fever Now with the B-I double L bill We bill the par territories placing flags on terrains Now I said it was yours so snatch the world back from Wayne We did, universally sparked the lid Now these ladies love how we live Got'em caught, shit you already know looking so fly That the dog that played spiderweb your up aliasing here Sucker cats don't try to steer Near this, wish you could bring it this way Compliments of Wonder Y and my nigga David J So the do, re, mi, fa, sol, la Many reach to devour the stage, put the guts out the venue Ah, shut up in your face no need to continue I've been there, done that Received it, won that Yo stunned that, that's how you like To Sun frozed Keep my shit in harvest like Farmer John grows crops Hops, you'll need the whole ceiling to tops I saw the empire, set your liquid to fire Bim Blam set a flame to your fanny Davis the surname like Davis the Sammy A grammy, my concern is to earn for a little age Next time, next rhyme, next phase Chorus 2x Now put your hand on your hip Now put your hand on your hip And let your backbone slip And let your backbone slide Now put your hand up on your hip Now put your hand up on your hip And let your backbone slip for the fever Hey, ladies and gents reintroducing to you Shootin' shit like hot asses at the sip of bean stew Super fat come the visitor zoo Peace to my homewood niggas and my man Tofu I'm through evil that man do Get some ass on the side so my love can shine through Pull a cigar with crew, lean back and let it soak Your holdin' on to my twelve dollar smoke Man, it was Mase who laced the beat from up out the Earth Leaving brothers hipnotized like Ootney Fonsworth But I'm hip but no tized than that, clap to the break of dawn Dada, wonder why it's hotter than hot Why not knee, my Steve got niggas on the dick They want to join the click I hope that ass get a record deal So they can feel what I feel To overstand that ring ring, how you do is real You must be from Italy 'cause all you do is roam Microphone to microphone, lookin' for home I write a poem to make the publicists flock the prone cop China on stage so I don't need a spotlight Should be tight like tupperwear supperwear, drawers of socks Sippin' on gray pot yo scratch the pork chops Cause nothin' here drops We're goin' up, up, up, up, up, up, up Chorus 3x Huh (11x) It's the fever