Binance

Don't Fuck With Us (Cena John)

We keep it hoppin like the cars with the shocks We spittin heat on your block We new to the game, but runnin the spot Numbin your knot, with basslines that'll make ya neck break This rook'll take your queen and put ya king in checkmate Open your mind without makin ya meditate We real champs; y'all just featherweight Time to get it straight, I push your wig back Crew loaded up with extra bread like a Big Mac Beefin with us? We're leavin you face down Stompin bitch rappers like I'm straight outta A-Town Runnin the playground like it was a track meet Shoes on the whip that be bigger than Shaq's feet We into big things, bank account's overgrown All types of cheese - swiss, cheddar, provolone Guaranteed to burn wax like candles Track hittin hard to the head like shots of Jack Daniels Y'all, bitch, crews, don't wanna fuck with us Y'all bound, to, lose, another one bites the dust It's Trademarc the truth, laid back, aloof I'm God, as if you needed some proof You ain't hard I can see it on you, I need a roof Fuck a droptop, crop if I'm creepin on you Click-clack nickelback knickknacks if you got heaters on you Spittin back live rounders, with five pounders If we meetin on two, I put a beatin on you Your sound's tired buddy, that's why I'm sleepin on you We lean back in the ride, with cream stackin the rawhide The sound of God slide with a raw vibe Straight military camel clothes ash brown boots So sick, I've been handlin flows, since enamel was gold tooth And branded by low You cold fuck like eskimo hoes at 7 below You slow, you be the last to think My hands seen more fuckin dirt than bathroom sinks I got punks, dumps and switches, dump chumpses bitches We feed you to the sharks, you can sleep with the fishes Clean you like dishes but I ain't no busboy You ain't family, you ain't earnin my trust boy Seen too many bitches that'll double cross ya We bring more drama than the Laker roster Get the click pissed, ain't nobody can save ya Throw heat without lookin like Fernando Valenzuela Marc Predka's the name, the rest of you lame I'm ego drivin, seen with different women, every size and frame I refine my game by fuckin famous bitches But it's all the same, it's just ex to the next for sex or brain, misses or Mrs. Married or not, my game don't stop It's cars bars bonds and stocks you ain't see my flow Y'all are small-time suckers like a knee-high hoe [Chorus]