Lookout (rmx) Songtext
von Homeboy Sandman
Lookout (rmx) Songtext
Boy Sand on the muthafuckin lookout
Beat was so ill that I had to take the hook out
Anytime I lost, recount there was a miscount
Anytime I floss, you could bet I got a discount
Two out every two sleeves I could pull the tricks out
Me I nail the routine also nail the dismount
Drop it in the tip jar I be taking tips out
Homies I don′t give a fuck
Ladies take your tits out
When I'm on the hill there isn′t any pitch count
I don't give a fuck 'bout anything you bitch bout
Never in the big house, often in a chick blouse
Often get a chick mouth looking like a fish mouth
Afterwards I dick down
Other words I digged out
I could write a list down
Fantasies I lived out
After it done fizzled out
Some of them done flipped out
Shit I get a kick out
Shit that get em kicked out
Not the type of cat to beat a hoochie in the head
I don′t barely move except for coochie or for bread
On it like quicker picker upper on a mess
Back up in this muthafucka like I never left
Bet
Please on deceased you could fuck with these
They love me long
Longer than two thousand three′s tees
Blacker than colored kids knees
Rock it then I'm out like every item on a golden crust menu but the cheese
Want all I can eat markie dee
I run em out the yard sharkie eek
What a guy gotta do to move his commas two to the east
And Sporting yabba doos on the beach
I′m balling Sydney d
You holla foul and reach like a snitch
Get that shit out my house son a bitch
You can't be top spitter when you leech
Suck
You in town and they don′t want you around
Buck
Sound
Burn ya real world to the ground
Puck
I be making pounds while I'm lounging it′s nuttin
You either begging pardons or you cuttin
You either on the list or you discussing
Who's listed
Rhyming since bodegas slanging mystics
Rhyming since the sega was a flex
Everybody coming at me talking bout they got the new prescription
All you bout hear from me is next
Next
Y'all know who it is, grammy award winner
In the foreign, with a foreign, listening to foreigner
Touring a new city nightly, rightfully I′m very paid
One feature had me ineligible for medicaid
Don′t work with bums for crumbs, I'm past that
Everyday you say today′s your last day doing verses, tryna gas cats (loser)
Only jacking the traction
Can't believe you bmi the way yo ass cap
They used to play me like I′m Arab or Latin
Now white people wanna claim me like fast rap
And they tried to say droog was over
Still getting dollas like alla pugacheva (who?)
Model hoes in my palatial estate
Twenty four hour chef on call we just ate
Live good, give a damn bout what you got
It won't ever compare to what droog, you fucking stugotz
It′s like a mansion to them little one bedroom spots
I'm above u like the dots on umlauts
If you fucked up then go see my doctor
You know my doctor, dr vinny boombatz
Damn yo, motherfuckers are gross
Beat was so ill that I had to take the hook out
Anytime I lost, recount there was a miscount
Anytime I floss, you could bet I got a discount
Two out every two sleeves I could pull the tricks out
Me I nail the routine also nail the dismount
Drop it in the tip jar I be taking tips out
Homies I don′t give a fuck
Ladies take your tits out
When I'm on the hill there isn′t any pitch count
I don't give a fuck 'bout anything you bitch bout
Never in the big house, often in a chick blouse
Often get a chick mouth looking like a fish mouth
Afterwards I dick down
Other words I digged out
I could write a list down
Fantasies I lived out
After it done fizzled out
Some of them done flipped out
Shit I get a kick out
Shit that get em kicked out
Not the type of cat to beat a hoochie in the head
I don′t barely move except for coochie or for bread
On it like quicker picker upper on a mess
Back up in this muthafucka like I never left
Bet
Please on deceased you could fuck with these
They love me long
Longer than two thousand three′s tees
Blacker than colored kids knees
Rock it then I'm out like every item on a golden crust menu but the cheese
Want all I can eat markie dee
I run em out the yard sharkie eek
What a guy gotta do to move his commas two to the east
And Sporting yabba doos on the beach
I′m balling Sydney d
You holla foul and reach like a snitch
Get that shit out my house son a bitch
You can't be top spitter when you leech
Suck
You in town and they don′t want you around
Buck
Sound
Burn ya real world to the ground
Puck
I be making pounds while I'm lounging it′s nuttin
You either begging pardons or you cuttin
You either on the list or you discussing
Who's listed
Rhyming since bodegas slanging mystics
Rhyming since the sega was a flex
Everybody coming at me talking bout they got the new prescription
All you bout hear from me is next
Next
Y'all know who it is, grammy award winner
In the foreign, with a foreign, listening to foreigner
Touring a new city nightly, rightfully I′m very paid
One feature had me ineligible for medicaid
Don′t work with bums for crumbs, I'm past that
Everyday you say today′s your last day doing verses, tryna gas cats (loser)
Only jacking the traction
Can't believe you bmi the way yo ass cap
They used to play me like I′m Arab or Latin
Now white people wanna claim me like fast rap
And they tried to say droog was over
Still getting dollas like alla pugacheva (who?)
Model hoes in my palatial estate
Twenty four hour chef on call we just ate
Live good, give a damn bout what you got
It won't ever compare to what droog, you fucking stugotz
It′s like a mansion to them little one bedroom spots
I'm above u like the dots on umlauts
If you fucked up then go see my doctor
You know my doctor, dr vinny boombatz
Damn yo, motherfuckers are gross
Writer(s): Wallace Fields, Gene Hix Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
