All A's Lyrics
| Song | All A's |
| Artist | Goodie Mob |
| Album | World Party |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Barnett, Barnett, Burton, Gipp ... | |
| Chorus：goodie mob (repeat 2x) | |
| I got to feed, the beat, the gat on the seat | |
| Fakin ain't these girls fake when they see they face in the paint | |
| Mustard and mayonnaise, and we smoke always | |
| Passin by these haters like we got all a's | |
| [backbone] | |
| Say say say say crack, what's the word on the street? | |
| Nuttin but hard times, workin this concrete | |
| I'm gettin dirty looks from niggaz, on the next street over | |
| They was in my filthy, fiendin gettin closer | |
| I'm in my seventy-nine, flyin | |
| Mobbed out so they can't see me when i'm ridin | |
| They slow me down, holla like we buddy buddy | |
| But at the same time i know these muh'****ers wanna mug me | |
| Okay gunplay at the one-way one day witcha | |
| But i'll do years, if i bust these niggaz | |
| Keep point four-five calibers of chrome | |
| I'm, comin forth to carry you home | |
| Chorus | |
| [cee-lo] | |
| Yo, well you damn right, dig it they call me sugar delight | |
| Uh-ohh hoe, willie cuttin virgin broads tonight | |
| Blowin like a boss, that champion chief in cost | |
| And oh my dual exhaust, will make your shit get lost | |
| There's somethin bout these guns that give these hoes asthma attacks | |
| These are actual facts, i ain't been in no actual car-jacks | |
| But let me tell you this, i'll burn a nigga ass up to a crisp | |
| Ridin with these two glocks, we gon' bounce on off, on the new shocks | |
| My nigga don't hate me, cause i ain't hated, but we related | |
| No one includin me, should be understimated | |
| But don't you dare ride through the swats without, at least 30 shots | |
| Cause i'm tellin ya, these southern boys gon' get all they got | |
| Chorus | |
| [khujo] | |
| Pop it in, get to work, brains blow, ?? | |
| Off the block before your carcass drop | |
| Can't share nothin with the niggeroles, stealin socks | |
| Out your cornbread dream too, if you got those, leavin deaf hoes | |
| Brown, on the outside, pink, in the middle | |
| Ain't, barrin none hundred round draw | |
| Nothin under seventy-five, and i get slick ?? | |
| Takin no prisoners cuffed, they die fightin for they freedom | |
| Everytime son, rhymes too pretty'll get your mascara smeared | |
| When they did, my buddy spanky i bust out in tears | |
| The world would be a better place to live, if it was less queers | |
| I still see, punk ass bitches.. bitches.. | |
| Chorus | |
| [gipp] | |
| Get up off and give me room, activate, motivate | |
| Y'all from the section where the straight shit, straight up off the top | |
| Block for block, yo we got the ??, wait for days | |
| Gone up off the purple haze, when you see me call me mr. gipp | |
| Shoot em from the hip, everytime i'm in my 84 sedan deville | |
| Block me off and watch me peel, big boi grill ridin through the park | |
| On the weekend ain't no stoppin keep it dippin that's how we trippin | |
| Lookin mean, you too clean behind the glass | |
| Watch yo' ass, keep yo' elbows out the windows | |
| And my hands upon the wood wheel, money in my socks | |
| Lookin out, for the cops, and for the haters got a fifty shot | |
| Whatever you wanna call it, nigga what? what? | |
| Chorus | |
| [t-mo] | |
| Now watch em slide like some finger lickin chicken, bout to start clickin | |
| Hoe better know who the true g's are, i'm the star, brand new car | |
| Dope ki lyrical cascade height, swats type, mic soldier | |
| Blowin composer, chief of that doja, told ya when i was older | |
| I wanted to live the good life, money over that bull, got that pull | |
| Stomach full, posse thick, niggaz wish, at a young age | |
| Goodie mo.b., doin they thang, i, pray, for, change | |
| And my players in this game it's insane, how this 'caine | |
| Is bringin em pain, young'un doin time dyin by this grind | |
| A-t-l, fine this just how it's goin down | |
| And the sound, watch your mouth in this mother****in dirty south | |
| Nigga check it out, dirty swats got spots | |
| Chorus |
| zuo ci : Barnett, Barnett, Burton, Gipp ... | |
| Chorus: goodie mob repeat 2x | |
| I got to feed, the beat, the gat on the seat | |
| Fakin ain' t these girls fake when they see they face in the paint | |
| Mustard and mayonnaise, and we smoke always | |
| Passin by these haters like we got all a' s | |
| backbone | |
| Say say say say crack, what' s the word on the street? | |
| Nuttin but hard times, workin this concrete | |
| I' m gettin dirty looks from niggaz, on the next street over | |
| They was in my filthy, fiendin gettin closer | |
| I' m in my seventynine, flyin | |
| Mobbed out so they can' t see me when i' m ridin | |
| They slow me down, holla like we buddy buddy | |
| But at the same time i know these muh' ers wanna mug me | |
| Okay gunplay at the oneway one day witcha | |
| But i' ll do years, if i bust these niggaz | |
| Keep point fourfive calibers of chrome | |
| I' m, comin forth to carry you home | |
| Chorus | |
| ceelo | |
| Yo, well you damn right, dig it they call me sugar delight | |
| Uhohh hoe, willie cuttin virgin broads tonight | |
| Blowin like a boss, that champion chief in cost | |
| And oh my dual exhaust, will make your shit get lost | |
| There' s somethin bout these guns that give these hoes asthma attacks | |
| These are actual facts, i ain' t been in no actual carjacks | |
| But let me tell you this, i' ll burn a nigga ass up to a crisp | |
| Ridin with these two glocks, we gon' bounce on off, on the new shocks | |
| My nigga don' t hate me, cause i ain' t hated, but we related | |
| No one includin me, should be understimated | |
| But don' t you dare ride through the swats without, at least 30 shots | |
| Cause i' m tellin ya, these southern boys gon' get all they got | |
| Chorus | |
| khujo | |
| Pop it in, get to work, brains blow, ?? | |
| Off the block before your carcass drop | |
| Can' t share nothin with the niggeroles, stealin socks | |
| Out your cornbread dream too, if you got those, leavin deaf hoes | |
| Brown, on the outside, pink, in the middle | |
| Ain' t, barrin none hundred round draw | |
| Nothin under seventyfive, and i get slick ?? | |
| Takin no prisoners cuffed, they die fightin for they freedom | |
| Everytime son, rhymes too pretty' ll get your mascara smeared | |
| When they did, my buddy spanky i bust out in tears | |
| The world would be a better place to live, if it was less queers | |
| I still see, punk ass bitches.. bitches.. | |
| Chorus | |
| gipp | |
| Get up off and give me room, activate, motivate | |
| Y' all from the section where the straight shit, straight up off the top | |
| Block for block, yo we got the ??, wait for days | |
| Gone up off the purple haze, when you see me call me mr. gipp | |
| Shoot em from the hip, everytime i' m in my 84 sedan deville | |
| Block me off and watch me peel, big boi grill ridin through the park | |
| On the weekend ain' t no stoppin keep it dippin that' s how we trippin | |
| Lookin mean, you too clean behind the glass | |
| Watch yo' ass, keep yo' elbows out the windows | |
| And my hands upon the wood wheel, money in my socks | |
| Lookin out, for the cops, and for the haters got a fifty shot | |
| Whatever you wanna call it, nigga what? what? | |
| Chorus | |
| tmo | |
| Now watch em slide like some finger lickin chicken, bout to start clickin | |
| Hoe better know who the true g' s are, i' m the star, brand new car | |
| Dope ki lyrical cascade height, swats type, mic soldier | |
| Blowin composer, chief of that doja, told ya when i was older | |
| I wanted to live the good life, money over that bull, got that pull | |
| Stomach full, posse thick, niggaz wish, at a young age | |
| Goodie mo. b., doin they thang, i, pray, for, change | |
| And my players in this game it' s insane, how this ' caine | |
| Is bringin em pain, young' un doin time dyin by this grind | |
| Atl, fine this just how it' s goin down | |
| And the sound, watch your mouth in this mother in dirty south | |
| Nigga check it out, dirty swats got spots | |
| Chorus |
| zuò cí : Barnett, Barnett, Burton, Gipp ... | |
| Chorus: goodie mob repeat 2x | |
| I got to feed, the beat, the gat on the seat | |
| Fakin ain' t these girls fake when they see they face in the paint | |
| Mustard and mayonnaise, and we smoke always | |
| Passin by these haters like we got all a' s | |
| backbone | |
| Say say say say crack, what' s the word on the street? | |
| Nuttin but hard times, workin this concrete | |
| I' m gettin dirty looks from niggaz, on the next street over | |
| They was in my filthy, fiendin gettin closer | |
| I' m in my seventynine, flyin | |
| Mobbed out so they can' t see me when i' m ridin | |
| They slow me down, holla like we buddy buddy | |
| But at the same time i know these muh' ers wanna mug me | |
| Okay gunplay at the oneway one day witcha | |
| But i' ll do years, if i bust these niggaz | |
| Keep point fourfive calibers of chrome | |
| I' m, comin forth to carry you home | |
| Chorus | |
| ceelo | |
| Yo, well you damn right, dig it they call me sugar delight | |
| Uhohh hoe, willie cuttin virgin broads tonight | |
| Blowin like a boss, that champion chief in cost | |
| And oh my dual exhaust, will make your shit get lost | |
| There' s somethin bout these guns that give these hoes asthma attacks | |
| These are actual facts, i ain' t been in no actual carjacks | |
| But let me tell you this, i' ll burn a nigga ass up to a crisp | |
| Ridin with these two glocks, we gon' bounce on off, on the new shocks | |
| My nigga don' t hate me, cause i ain' t hated, but we related | |
| No one includin me, should be understimated | |
| But don' t you dare ride through the swats without, at least 30 shots | |
| Cause i' m tellin ya, these southern boys gon' get all they got | |
| Chorus | |
| khujo | |
| Pop it in, get to work, brains blow, ?? | |
| Off the block before your carcass drop | |
| Can' t share nothin with the niggeroles, stealin socks | |
| Out your cornbread dream too, if you got those, leavin deaf hoes | |
| Brown, on the outside, pink, in the middle | |
| Ain' t, barrin none hundred round draw | |
| Nothin under seventyfive, and i get slick ?? | |
| Takin no prisoners cuffed, they die fightin for they freedom | |
| Everytime son, rhymes too pretty' ll get your mascara smeared | |
| When they did, my buddy spanky i bust out in tears | |
| The world would be a better place to live, if it was less queers | |
| I still see, punk ass bitches.. bitches.. | |
| Chorus | |
| gipp | |
| Get up off and give me room, activate, motivate | |
| Y' all from the section where the straight shit, straight up off the top | |
| Block for block, yo we got the ??, wait for days | |
| Gone up off the purple haze, when you see me call me mr. gipp | |
| Shoot em from the hip, everytime i' m in my 84 sedan deville | |
| Block me off and watch me peel, big boi grill ridin through the park | |
| On the weekend ain' t no stoppin keep it dippin that' s how we trippin | |
| Lookin mean, you too clean behind the glass | |
| Watch yo' ass, keep yo' elbows out the windows | |
| And my hands upon the wood wheel, money in my socks | |
| Lookin out, for the cops, and for the haters got a fifty shot | |
| Whatever you wanna call it, nigga what? what? | |
| Chorus | |
| tmo | |
| Now watch em slide like some finger lickin chicken, bout to start clickin | |
| Hoe better know who the true g' s are, i' m the star, brand new car | |
| Dope ki lyrical cascade height, swats type, mic soldier | |
| Blowin composer, chief of that doja, told ya when i was older | |
| I wanted to live the good life, money over that bull, got that pull | |
| Stomach full, posse thick, niggaz wish, at a young age | |
| Goodie mo. b., doin they thang, i, pray, for, change | |
| And my players in this game it' s insane, how this ' caine | |
| Is bringin em pain, young' un doin time dyin by this grind | |
| Atl, fine this just how it' s goin down | |
| And the sound, watch your mouth in this mother in dirty south | |
| Nigga check it out, dirty swats got spots | |
| Chorus |
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