Rollin' Lyrics

Holding, cracking, smoking, stacking
Close down the club, I got your girl in the sack, and
Got a skull in my hand like Hamlet
Little sausages cooking in the sun, goddammit
BGO til the sun goes home
Lindsay Lohans digits on my telephone
Hey go home and fuck them bitches from the east wing
Holed up in DFW like I was the Burger King
Got diamonds drippin off me like they might fall to their deaths
A certs might help you with that goddamn breath
Methamphetamine junkie doing the robot smurf
Two or three K, 'bout what Im worth
I got hoes on their toes at the close of discos, takin off their clothes
In the throes of yours truly, damn
I got the big bell ringing ding
Got all the Ladies in the club all singin'
Rollin
Rollin
Rollin
Rollin
I peed on the cake that I brought to your wake
Got so much shit on my plate I need a fucking rake
Fat falling out my mouth like a fat faucet
Pushing all these words down your ear-holes with the greatest of ease,
Please, man, a tweeze immaculate tweezers
Im all crunk and g, fucked Angelina Jolie
And with my diamond visa, Im like a superman
Zooming up on Sunday morning like only a Jedi Knight can
Dont wear a dress, gotta hold on my pringle
Snoop Dogg, Ludacris, Fifty on my single
Rollin
Rollin
Rollin
Rollin
Holding, creeping, smoking, peeping
All the babies on their strollers, strictly speaking Puerto Rican
Smoking, stalking, holding, talking
All the hot tubbies in the club on my jock, and
Cabriolet, Escalade, Smirnoff, and Gatorade
South Beach body with a manhatten mind
my God, what a find
Spitting image, honey, of a Cambodian
Got the blades spinning, got the twenty-inch chrome
Cool J on the player, twenty shots to the dome
Tell me, hell yeah, whatcha doing later, hater
Damn, look I hardly know her, then I had to ate her y'all
Goddamn, let me tuck that shit up on the headboard
Rub some baby lotion on my baby, make it so
I could tell you what to say, and you can say it with a grunt
When you see me in the club, then you know I?m on the hunt
When were
Rollin
Rollin
Rollin
Rollin
Damn, hotter than an all-beef patty sizzling on the grill
Look, if looks could kill, I?d be a dead motherfucker
Six feet, dead under the dirt
Goddamn, you do good work, one look and I hurt
Stereo cranked up to ten, two thousand watts and
Some Heineken bottles in the trunk on ice
DVD in the back showing some joint by Obie Trice
Poppas pushing sixty, but he just don?t give a fuck
Wearing a lime-green speedo like he was driving a truck
Down the surface of a highway on the sun
Whatd you say?
Whatd you say, bitch? Hold my drink, let me get my gun
Rollin
Rollin
Rollin
Rollin