Lletres:
Are Picked All Notes With The

Made 'em pick my dude, out the line up Baby, what the fuck is wrong (Wrong) With them? What the fuck is wrong (Wrong) With them? You see money you call Very few are

I told ya (Told ya) We rob before we go broke, man We robbin' y'all, all a y'all, all a y'all Y'all my dogs If ya call or ya fall, depend on that nigga

you with the letter four I mean the letter F-O-U-R Tryin to say you a G?! I'm like Oh-you-are? Don't be talkin all them lies like I don't know you boy

In the bushes far below I thought I saw an unfamiliar shadow Among the ones I so clearly know I've been sleeping with the night light unplugged With a note

Made 'em pick my dude, out the line up Baby, what the fuck is wrong (Wrong) With them? What the fuck is wrong (Wrong) With them? You see money you call Very few are

and tap the butt Too $hort, baby all in them guts I'm not your ABC, from the alphabet Every letter I'll write'll get your pussy wet It's just a freaky note

pay me mine! ("Damn nigga!") I grab the dice, place your price, all you men are mice Riffin as I'm sippin on a Heineken and gettin nice I shake em up they papes are

start spittin' them lyrics, niggas get very religious Six Hail Marys please, Father, forgive us Young, the archbishop, the Pope John Paul of y'all niggas The way y'all all

Dottie She packed a note in my knapsack along with a shottie Hmmph, she was cute and mad fly She had the Prada knapsack with the hat to match Bavari hiking boots with