A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

Pastor Troy

"Do It"

[Chorus]
Do it, (come on now)
Do it, (come on now)
Do it
(Come on) Do the damn thing

[Verse 1: Rasheeda]
Come on let's start this sh*t
Shawty let's crank this sh*t
A little something for them hatin' hoes
Who gets nothin' but them knees and boes
Why y'all all in my grill
Why y'all can't keep it real
Always tryin' to plot and scheme
Want to live this life is just a dream
Ain't no I in teams
All the real n*ggas know what it mean
Catch me y'all just to slow
Hatin' hoes gotta let y'all go
Don't never try to stop my flo'
Won't tell you this sh*t no mo'
The baddest hoe that you ever seen
Two triple O, shawty bout that green

[Verse 2: Que Bo Gold]
Naw they don't understand
These n*ggas don't understand
These muthaf*ckers think we playin
See they don't know what we sayin
Fake n*ggas in our grill
Fake n*ggas all in our grill
These n*ggas don't want to get to it
These n*ggas don't want to do it

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: Re Re]
You can tell a real n*gga from the fake fake
A trill n*gga that's down in the cake cake
A hot girl that's clean not stank stank
Some bad weave for somebody
So you took a little drank
So I guess it made you think that you could when you can't
Wit the N with the ain't
Ain't nobody got time round here to playing round
Sucker with the big sack n*gga better lay it down
Comin' through ain't bout that shady sh*t
Boy I'm mo' dirty than Dusty Rhodes
I drop the beat and rock the flo'
Representing that Que Bo Gold
So don't you try to test us out thinkin' we country wit no skills
'cause I drop the bass and tame the bass
Put this fire to yo grill

[Verse 4: Rasheeda]
Well I was born in Illinois okay ah
Raised in Atlanta, G-A yah
Lived in New York and L.A. yea
My n*gga I'm da sh*t no matter where I stay
Cause, uh, I was cut like that, lil buddy I'm stacked like that
From the front to the side to the back, Rasheeda, and I'm tight like that
I ain't never been worried bout another
Cutter her buddy, lil buddy I don't studder
9 double lock chrome for the lame lame
Big faces in my pocket not the chump change
Ride the Benz with the wood grain, grilled out, smoke frame
With the knock knock
38 pop pop all you haters just stop
Or you gone get dropped

[Chorus]

Verse 4: Pastor Troy
Uh, Stick em, ha ha ha, stick em
f*ck them pus*y n*ggas and who ever wit em
All I say is sic em
And there go my boys
D-S-G-B, Pastor damn Troy
Boy you ain't ready
Boy you don't want it
Boy we ain't ready, b*tch get disappointed
sh*t, all I know is southern blo'd not lower than a dime
From thirty piece to quarter ki we strictly on the grind
No time to spit no evidence, no evidence, no charge
Since they ain't got no evidence
I gave them my lil boy
The scars from my hand as I crank up the speaker
Drop the bomb on you b*tches, Pastor and Rasheeda
b*tch, do it!

[Chorus]

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