Grease lyrics

[Intro]
(f*ck the fire, we got grease)
We do got grease now (It's a Wayne beat)
That n*gga Wayne'll get on y'all producers' ass, n*gga
All kind of different bags
b*tch, shake that ass
b*tch, shake that ass
I got an old pint of glass Hi-Tech, don't— alright

[Verse]
b*tch, shake that ass
I got an old pint of Hi-Tech, don't break that glass
n*gga, I was great at math
But if you look in the room, then I ain't in class
I was skippin', in the hood sellin' dope
I can't get a b*tch pregnant, put on a glove 'fore I poke
I got rich semen
I can't find no white lows, I'ma Big B it
I get bored and find myself somewhere on Big Beavеr
I feel like Jelly on the stagе in a big beater
I be f*ckin' all the bad hoes, and I don't trick neither
Just counted twenty racks up and let my b*tch keep it
Yeah, that's my baby mama
I be giving all my side hoes eighty dollars
Went in my right pocket, pulled out enough money to buy eight Impalas
Ninety racks cash on me, but I ate McDonald's
I feel like Durk, voice of the streets
b*tch pus*y get moist when I speak
Takin' chances shoppin', I'm in 'Troit with the heat
Walkin' out the mall, won't see a n*gga horsing me
Sad news, yeah, I f*cked your b*tch unfortunately
I keep textin' the lil' b*tch like, "Abort please, please, please"
Abort please, please, please, alright
I can't have no more kids, I got enough problems
I gotta fly back to the city, I got court problems
I remember tryna buy a nick with four dollars
Now I'm ridin' 'round with two blicks and four choppers
I just bought some new cut, this a horse dropper
Finna pour a four of Wocky in a Core Water
She won't let me hit her walls, she got a door stopper
I don't wanna f*ck the b*tch, she a whore probably
But I wanna f*ck Percules
n*gga buy a lil' gun, now he Hercules
Pointy-tip Louis on, go to church in these
You tryna make a couple dollars? Come work for me
Me and JR just poured a bad motherf*cker, it's the Squirt for me
Stick my finger in a b*tch pus*y, it's the skirt for me
Damn near passed out f*ckin', I got syrup in me
Yeah, you got a hundred racks, but you poor to me
I got a bad-ass b*tch, she Portuguese
Thirty racks to the side, them lawyer fees
I ain't squarin' up with no n*gga, I SIG Sauer squeeze
Send my rich b*tch a pair of Diors like, "Order these"