Quan Artest lyrics

[Intro]
Goofy Ahh Uncle Productions (Aye, ok, aye, ok)
Aye n*gga you know what I’m sayin
n*ggas say that I fell off, I don't even care
I just do this sh*t for fun

[Verse 1]
They like “Quan little n*gga where you been at?”
b*tch I been counting this mof*ckin’ cake
I got all this green, b*tch, I need a rake
Call me a realtor, put you in yo place
I hit up your b*tch and I go get a taste
And you know that I’m keeping that Glock on my waist
Shoot a n*gga in his head, knock off his toupee
Call a n*gga JiDion, ‘cuz he bald with a fade
You know I’m finna send a n*gga up if he talk down
f*ck a n*gga b*tch inside her ass, now my c*ck brown
Told her “put her titties in my mouth” she my mom now
Feelin’ like an A-R-A-B, I’m the bomb now
I’m the bomb cause I’m blowing up again
Got my thumb in her butt while I’m f*ckin’ on her friend
And I’ll turn into a monster, call me Ben 10
Got thе bricks in the pot whipping in the kitchen
I don’t likе my b*tches white, I like them coco
I dont like my b*tches poor, I don’t like them broke hoes
Pull up on a opp, shoot his ass, L bozo
That b*tch she looks like a hippo, call her Moto
And I just popped a f*cking bean, feel like a cholo
If that really is your b*tch, why the f*ck she want a photo?
Pull up in a SRT, got the foe doe
Skirting off in a scatpack, take your hoe bro
[Verse 2]
Okay, b*tch, I been doing this for 6 years straight
Feeling like Aubrey Graham, finna pull up with a Drake
I ain’t never going broke, that’ll never be the case
I’m the voice, lil n*gga, I’ll never be the face
I don’t run from nobody, I’ll never do the race
Got a chopper in the kitchen, know that b*tch finna bake
Told a b*tch “come j*rk on my chicken” like Jamaicans
Told your b*tch “put your hand on my spear” like an African
I’m finna take your b*tch and I’m finna blow her back again
Feeling like an Apple user, finna buy a Mac again
My dad told me to do chores, I started packing him
Getting all these racks, lil n*gga, I be stacking them
Man I always got b*tches in my car, human trafficking
And all these n*ggas say my songs are trash “stop rapping man”
My songs may be trash but I got your b*tch laughing man
She playin with my balls, she playin with it like tennis
She’s suckin on my c*ck, she suckin it till I finish
I stick it in, f*ck her, she’s askin’ for more inches
I tell her go up in the kitchen and wash the dishes
Yeah, she’s blowin me kisses
Getting to the bag, gotta finish the mission
f*ckin on your b*tch and this di*k got her twitchin’
Only make hits, lil n*gga, no misses

[Outro]
Leaving that boy on the curb
Them bullets finna make him learn
My n*ggas pull up on the curb
Like to f*ck with these hoes, I’m a j*rk
Yeah, and I’m finna buy your b*tch a purse
And you know that I’m smoking that purp
Got a Glock and that b*tch finna burst
That boy got crossed like a church
Finna put his ass on a T-Shirt
You better learn
Backwood Russian cream finna burn
Yeah, lil n*gga, this meeting’s adjourned!
I’m back, n*ggas