Wood Structure Explosion - Pro Sound Effects Library

I gotta close the window before I record

Cause New York don’t know how to be quiet

Stand up!

Ferg… AR!

AR!

AR!

Coogi, down, to the, socks, like I’m, Biggie poppa (BAAABY!)

Keep your girl hit in my Tommy boxers

But really though, she a silly ho, cause you know the Fergenstein getting

plenty dough

She don’t get nothin' from a nigga though;

all she get is hard dick and some

Cheerios

Kinda silly though, but I’m lyrical, bet I put him in the dirt with the penny

loafs

No tint though, on my window, so you see a nigga shining in the Benzo

BALLIN'!

(Skkrrrrr!) Got me feelin' like Jim Jones

I’m a pimp though, no limp though, couldn’t copy my style in Kinkos

Put in work, run up on a killer then I put him in the dirt

Run up in the buildin', semi gon' squirt, that’s what a nigga get when they

gettin' on my nerves

I ain’t lyin' - lay 'em on the curb, ridin' on a killer who be coming at Ferg!

(Damnnnnnnnn!) Girl you twerk, twerk that kitty girl make it purr

Put in work, Flacko put 'em in the dirt

French got the shovel he gon' put him in the earth, Trinidad maniac with a all

gold hearse

Yeah, uh, put in work, Schoolboy Q with a pound of the purp

So much work he’ll smoke up the Earth — Polo Ground, A$AP World

Put in work, put in work

Put in work, put 'em in the dirt

YAWK!

YAWK!

YAWK!

YAWK!

A lotta niggas died, should’ve been from Hoover Street

No I do not have a car, but I could buy one every week

Pimpin' like I’m 33, move keys like I’m 36

Ship O’s like I’m 28, Tacoma know I’m pushin' weight

O-X-Y I’m in your state, eatin' off your dinner plate

My heart live where Santa stay, super fly, I need a cape

Bitches throwin' pussy back and forth, they on my dick

Passion drippin' off her lip, she say she never had a crip

Uh, put in work, all big booties make ya twerk

All big titties lift your shirt, show a player what you’re worth

Yeah, put in work, spray his ass in front the Church

Deacon said I did my shit, the pastor said, «That nigga turnt»

Pop my collar on my shirt, make these bitches go berserk

Shippin' units, Captain Kirk, takin' xannies poppin' percs

Might not last, I’ll bomb ya first, turn your backseat to a hearse

Back to the lab with mother Earth, had to give Young Ferg a verse

A lot of homies cried, due to crimes, homicide

Drivin' by, poppin' nines, Pakistan, Columbine

Out of line, pistols barkin' «AR!

AR!»

ride or die

Write a script, design a line, all I see is dollar signs

You want that pretty Flacko?

Ratchets, designer jackets

The same niggas who jack it be the first who claim we faggots

My bitch is a movie actress, side bitch won a beauty pageant

Got a chick that worked at Magic, but I’m so damn fine make a bitch look average

See my daddy in heaven, right next to Ferg’s

You know what’s up I’m throwin' bucks, Loaded Lux (Put in work!)