Contract (Chopped & Screwed) lyrics

[Intro: Pimpin' Ken]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, like I said this is your boy Pimpin' Ken dot net
Sell the b*tch pus*y till it's drip drop wet
You know what I'm saying, the vet, not the pet
Dig this here man
Like my n*gga Cashball, you know what I'm saying, me and DeAnte say
Man, it's "stacks, tracks and contracts," you know what I'm taking about?
Only time a b*tch get off is when a b*tch run off, you know what I'm talking about?
Hey man, you understand me
Master constitution for the prostitution
And let prostitution be the only solution
Please-please believe it, you understand it, b*tch, you know my choosing fee b*tch
It's a lifetime, b*tch of ho crime, beliеve that ho you know what I'm talking about
Yeah, b*tch you know what I'm talking about
Don-Don coochie holе b*tch, better known as pimp coochie hole
Pimpin' Ken the Don in this sh*t ho
You know what I'm talking about, yeah
Milwaukee, Wisconsin you f*ck-ass b*tch

[Verse 1: Dirty Mouth]
As I pull up to the club, jumping out of the Jag
24's spinning-spinning with a dealership tag
24's spinning-spinning with a dealership tag
24's spinning-spinning with a dealership tag
Brand new, bright-bright leather guts and pearl blue
These hoes they choosing like a lucky horseshoe
But that's alright, cause I- cause I don't pay these hoes no mind
As I stroll to the front of the VIP line
Straight in I go, headed straight to the bar
Super-superstar status, so-so guess-guess I'm a star
Haters checking me out, now tell me what's that about?
I'ma chill to the point haters checking me out
Sipping on the Crystal, b*tches wanna get wild
Popping X and smoking dro' on the verge of my style
These b*tches calling, asking-asking "Where the after party?"
The Embassy Suites downtown, room 112, my darling
Bring your friends so we can let this party begin
And bring a box of Magnum rubbers so we can f*ck till the end
[Chorus: Jazze Pha]
Hey bi-b*tch, sign-sign name-name dot-dotted line (Well)
Cause you-cause you belong to me (You-you belong to me, yeah)
Hey bi-b*tch (hey bit-) sign-sign name-name dot-dotted (Well)
Now-now you're mine

[Verse 2: LA]
Just pulled up at the club, I'm flyer than a motherf-
Damn-damn, why they staring? Ho, sh*t I'm the motherf*cker
Not the front door, we better go through the back
See that-see, that was back then, now look where we at
Straight to VIP, my n*ggas man we deep
You gonna go through 2 or 3, before you get to me
The b*tch, and she a G and said-and said "What's up for later?"
I said "I'm 20 East, I'm headed to Decatur"
Mother-motherf*ck the hater, it's about this making paper
Mother-motherf*ck the hater, it's about this making paper
Mother-motherf*ck the hater, 'bout-'bout this making paper
While she-while she choosing hard, guaranteed I'ma take her
So shake the saltshaker, the dro' is the vapor
I ain't got love for n*ggas cause all they do is try to cake her
I ain't sippin on no chaser, that's what we tell the waiter
God-goddamn right, I'm a motherf*cker player
God-goddamn right, I'm a motherf*cker player
God-goddamn right, I'm a motherf*cker player
Tell-tell-tell me how you want it, you riding? Get up on it
I ain't f*cking with the ho if she don't know how to donut, for real
[Chorus: Jazze Pha & Lil Jon]
Hey bi-b*tch (hey bit-), sign-sign name-name dot-dotted line (Well)
Cause you-cause you belong to me (You-you belong to me, yeah)
Hey bi-b*tch (hey bit-) sign-sign name-name dot-dotted line (well)
Cause now you're mine
Hey, hey
Get up b*tch, it's time to go to work
Time to go to work b*tch, it's your boy Lil Jon (Yeah, yeah, yeah)

[Verse 3: Lil Jon]
And ever will I love a b*tch?
Why-why would I trust a b*tch?
Al-always gonna dog a b*tch
They-
And ever will I love a b*tch?
Why-why would I trust a b*tch?
Al-always gonna dog a b*tch
They only good for sucking di*k
Or riding on a n*gga c*ck
Trying to get a n*gga stock
Never-never gonna break bread
Not even for a little head
I'm a player, not a cake-a-ho
Al-always gotta break a ho
Down to the f*cking floor
You step up, I'll let you know
It's M-MOB, B-BME
P to the I to the M P
No, I'm Southside, sorry
b*tch you-b*tch you better pay me
[Verse 4: Big Sam]
Old school white Lac pimpin like I'm Don Juan
When I pull up on the track, I toot-a-loo my horn
Make these hoes come running like mice for traps
If you ain't got my money ho, you bound to get slap
Cause I don't love a b*tch and won't save a b*tch
It ain't-it ain't about money, don't-don't make sense
If it ain't about money, don't-don't make sense
If it ain't about money, don't-don't make sense
I'll mack a b*tch and I'll pimp a b*tch
As long as she making me filthy rich

[Verse 5: Don P]
Just up off the pill, drinking-drinking on my beer
Sitting-sitting on a mill, but I'm-but I'm pimpin still
Riding-riding round the track, Goldie-Goldie in the Mack
Don-Don Coreleone pimping hoes from my realm
Rized-rized by the words, coming-coming out my mouth
Flushing-flushing money quickly out these b*tches' bank accounts
After-after that I bounce, to a-to another ho, totally-totally different city
For a whole other show
They say, "Why you don't call?" I say, "b*tch, where my dividends?"
"You always out of town" "b*tch-b*tch, where my dividends?"
"You probably in the club" "b*tch-b*tch, where my dividends?"
You bout to make me break your neck, I have to ask your ass again
Don-Don a.k.a "stay-stay pimpin hard"
That mean hoes gonna march winter, summer, spring and fall
Cause I-cause I have to ball, there's no-there's no other way
Even if the b*tch's pregnant, there's no Happy Mother's Day (Yeah)

[Chorus: Jazze Pha & Lil Jon/Both]
Hey b*tch (hey b*tch), sign your name on the dotted line (sign right here)
Cause you belong to me (you my b*tch now)
*Laughs* (Hey, hey)
Hey b*tch (hey b*tch), sign your name on the dotted line (right here)
Cause now you're mine (you mine, ho)
Yeah, get your ass up