Sickalicious Songtext
von Fabolous feat. Missy Elliott
Sickalicious Songtext
They call me G-H-E-T-T-O (ghetto)
Get Black Star power, like BET shows (uh)
I′m usually pullin' up in the GT slow (wooh)
Flashing my ring finger with the ET glow (haha)
I′m that nucca, act rucka (uh)
Certified plat nucca (yeah)
Semi-auto, gat bucca (blah)
Take that fucka, lay flat sucka (blah)
I'm the Negro (uh), amigo (uh)
Get every bay from Tampa to Montigo (c'mon)
They say I got the lifestyle, and the E glow (uh)
I′m in the blow range, no matter where he go (yeah)
I′m that homie (uh), gat on me (uh)
I'm the kid not that phony (uh-huh)
Anybody that know me
Knows I′m here to get that money, yeah
Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey
24 shoes on my Hummer and they fitting tight
Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right?
If you a hater make my gun go (blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
They call me F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S
You just lay down slow (nigga)
Know this before this, trey pound blow (uh-huh)
Spit game, get dames to lay down low (oh)
I'm da poppy cholo
The cops say the tops on the drops is to low (yeah)
I shop ′til I drop, when I'm coppin′ new clothes (uh)
Bop in the hop but don't stop to use hoes (peace)
I'm that new dude (uh-huh), that include (uh-huh)
Making sure silencers in the gat is screwed
With a ′It Don′t Even Matter' mood
And a ′Fuck You, Pay Me', attitude (fuck you nigga, pay me nigga)
I′m that young boy, that slung boy
That'll have ′em saying, where you get that from, boy?
I'm still leaving niggas, at one choice
So, run when you hear, that gun noise, blat
You say you rich, then come and talk that shit to me
(Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
Buy your DVD's and TV′s but I like shoes on my Jeep
(Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
24-inch wheels and a good gold grill in the front
(Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
Gotta closet made for big clothes
Gotta do more then treat me to lunch, uh-huh
Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey
24 shoes on my Hummer and they fitting tight
Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right?
If you a hater make my gun go (blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
They call me William H period Bonnie (yeah)
I ride in a seven series with Tommie′s (uh)
I make another on of America's hotties (what?)
And I′m that serious, Mommy (uh)
I'm the one like the Jet Li flick (uh-huh), the private jet ski′s sick (wooh)
The motors on the jet ski's quick (wooh)
The clips in the sets be thick (uh)
And I done slipped more shots in then Gretzky′s stick (uh-hu)
I'm the one like Penny Hardaway's number (one)
That′s why dudes say it′s hard to keep my broad away from ya (one, one, one)
Once your bitch, get the god two-way number (uh-huh)
It'll be hard to get a ′Happy Father's Day′ from ya
I'm the one, like the piece that′s on Nelly chain
You can't reach me, I'm out of your celly range (if she was not a winner, nobody′s)
Bitch, I′ll even put canary's up in your belly chain (bling)
And just to beat the traffic, hop in a helly main
Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey
24 shoes on my Hummer and they fitting tight
Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right?
If you a hater make my gun go (blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
Get Black Star power, like BET shows (uh)
I′m usually pullin' up in the GT slow (wooh)
Flashing my ring finger with the ET glow (haha)
I′m that nucca, act rucka (uh)
Certified plat nucca (yeah)
Semi-auto, gat bucca (blah)
Take that fucka, lay flat sucka (blah)
I'm the Negro (uh), amigo (uh)
Get every bay from Tampa to Montigo (c'mon)
They say I got the lifestyle, and the E glow (uh)
I′m in the blow range, no matter where he go (yeah)
I′m that homie (uh), gat on me (uh)
I'm the kid not that phony (uh-huh)
Anybody that know me
Knows I′m here to get that money, yeah
Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey
24 shoes on my Hummer and they fitting tight
Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right?
If you a hater make my gun go (blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
They call me F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S
You just lay down slow (nigga)
Know this before this, trey pound blow (uh-huh)
Spit game, get dames to lay down low (oh)
I'm da poppy cholo
The cops say the tops on the drops is to low (yeah)
I shop ′til I drop, when I'm coppin′ new clothes (uh)
Bop in the hop but don't stop to use hoes (peace)
I'm that new dude (uh-huh), that include (uh-huh)
Making sure silencers in the gat is screwed
With a ′It Don′t Even Matter' mood
And a ′Fuck You, Pay Me', attitude (fuck you nigga, pay me nigga)
I′m that young boy, that slung boy
That'll have ′em saying, where you get that from, boy?
I'm still leaving niggas, at one choice
So, run when you hear, that gun noise, blat
You say you rich, then come and talk that shit to me
(Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
Buy your DVD's and TV′s but I like shoes on my Jeep
(Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
24-inch wheels and a good gold grill in the front
(Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
Gotta closet made for big clothes
Gotta do more then treat me to lunch, uh-huh
Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey
24 shoes on my Hummer and they fitting tight
Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right?
If you a hater make my gun go (blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
They call me William H period Bonnie (yeah)
I ride in a seven series with Tommie′s (uh)
I make another on of America's hotties (what?)
And I′m that serious, Mommy (uh)
I'm the one like the Jet Li flick (uh-huh), the private jet ski′s sick (wooh)
The motors on the jet ski's quick (wooh)
The clips in the sets be thick (uh)
And I done slipped more shots in then Gretzky′s stick (uh-hu)
I'm the one like Penny Hardaway's number (one)
That′s why dudes say it′s hard to keep my broad away from ya (one, one, one)
Once your bitch, get the god two-way number (uh-huh)
It'll be hard to get a ′Happy Father's Day′ from ya
I'm the one, like the piece that′s on Nelly chain
You can't reach me, I'm out of your celly range (if she was not a winner, nobody′s)
Bitch, I′ll even put canary's up in your belly chain (bling)
And just to beat the traffic, hop in a helly main
Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey
24 shoes on my Hummer and they fitting tight
Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right?
If you a hater make my gun go (blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
Writer(s): Chad Elliot, John Jackson, Walter Becker, Donald Fagen, Melissa A Elliott Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com