Pop It For A Player (Remix; feat. E-40, The Game & Tech N9ne)

Текст песни Psych Ward Druggies - Pop It For A Player (Remix; feat. E-40, The Game & Tech N9ne)

Psych Ward Druggies
Hey yo, what up Fonzarelli?
What's happening, Game?
What up, Tech Nina?
Hey yo, Bowers! Let's get it!
(Positions, please) Remix!

When it's time to hit, I don't ever miss
First string nigga, I don't ever see the bench
They focused on the swish, it's all in the wrist
I don't give a puck, I don't ever slip
Pop it for a player! Goodness
Little momma over there popping it to the fullest
(What she doing?) Over there, cutting up
Making her presence felt, got a million-dollar butt
Double-D cup, silver-dollar nipples
Poke out through her bra like two missiles
Jaw-dropping, astonishing, legal tender, a winner
I wonder how many drinks it's gon' take to get to the center
How many blunts to enter? She surrender and let me smack
Doing this one like a lumberjack, penetrate from the back
Get my rocks off like I slang crack, lifestyles
Ran through a whole pack, off of that Cognac
I'm a maniac, my dick don't know how to act
She the cheerleader and I'm the quarterback
I'mma mack and she do whatever I say to her
Now let me see you pop it for a player

When it's time to hit, I don't ever miss
First string nigga, I don't ever see the bench
They focused on the swish, it's all in the wrist
I don't give a puck, I don't ever slip
Pop it for a player! Molly? Never met her, marijuana better
Chick never sweat her, 'less she got all my time for a
Sweater, it's cold outside, it's cold outside, pull up a
Hard-top phantom, leave them froze outside
Versace bomber for whenever wind blows outside
Chronic smoking the air, that grass getting mowed outside
I got a Canon, yup, I got a cannon
No bullets, like Eli, she got that bronco like Peyton Manning, so it
Makes perfect sense when you see us with Louis duffels
Pitbull on my waist, I can't stay out of trouble
My name ring bells (bells)
Ask Kim, ask Chanel (ask Chanel)
Ask Keisha, ask Michelle, my nickname five-star
Hotel, presidential suite, pussy swell
Nigga sweat, you scared, I can tell
Pop shots then hop in that V-12 'cuz

When it's time to hit, I don't ever miss
First string nigga, I don't ever see the bench
They focused on the swish, it's all in the wrist
I don't give a puck, I don't ever slip
Pop it for a player! Chyeah, I'm a playa, I'm a playa
'Cuz every girl I meet, she end up begging me to spray her
Insides, them eyes, opposite of in a prayer
She know my cake is sittin' higher than the Himalayas
Yahtzee! Popping that poonanny for Papi
Take my tally and top me, bouncing booty for broccoli?
White bitch, but she like her men like her coffee?
Awfully thick, I got whiskey dick, I'm saucy
Always ready to jump down on a bitch, turn
Around, I'mma take her down pound on a (bitch)
We kixin' it, acting like we don't see y'all
Bring the drama, whatever they 'gon do (fuck 'em), we ball
Strange Music in this bitch, we going all out
Take the bitches to the crib and get em sprawled out
All the haters and naysayers, killing y'all doubt
Yes, we got your lady giving all mouth

When it's time to hit, I don't ever miss
First string nigga, I don't ever see the bench
They focused on the swish, it's all in the wrist
I don't give a puck, I don't ever slip
Pop it for a player! Straight to the gas, no brakes, got a bad one on my plate
Don't wanna be cuffed up, show no love, just fuck them in the face
Coming through ripping and breaking a bitch, I'm MVP, you made for the bench
I came up now, but I bet you "pssh", your girl want that banana split now
Okay, okay, Druggies in this bi-yatch
Slobbing down my dick she say she got no gag reflex
Back it up, reverse, she rocking my
T-shirt, too many hoes, I'm like the broke Justin Bieber
Straight up, we about to be all paid
I swear, I give Miley them wrecking balls all day
Used to put me on the bench, now it's all play
Went from easy-bake pussy, now they all gourmet
I get brain on lobotomy
Now I date some chick, get more pussy than gynecology
Coming up from the bottom, see, lowering the economy
We the hottest sinners, motherfucker, no apology
Bowers