Artist: Rasheeda f/ Pastor Troy
Album: Do It
Song: Do It
Typed & thanks to: tru2560@hotmail.com
Hook:
Do it, (come on now)
do it, (come on now)
do it,
(come on) do the damn thang
Verse 1: Rasheeda
Come on let's start this shit
Shawty let's crank this shit
A little sumethin for them hatin' hoes
Who gets nothin' but them knees and boes
Why ya'll all in my grill,
Why ya'll can't keep it real
Always tryin' to plot and scheme
Wanna live this life is just a dream
Ain't no I in teams
All the real niggas know what it mean
Catch me ya'll just to slow
Hatin' hoes gotta let ya'll go
Don't never try to stop my flo'
Won't tell you this s--- no mo'
Da baddest hoe that you ever seen
Two triple O, shawty bout that green
Verse 2: Pastor Troy
Naw they don't understand
These niggas don't understand
These muthaf---ers think we playin
See they don't know what we sayin
Fake niggas in our grill
Fake niggas all in our grill
These niggas don't wanna get to it
These niggas don't wanna do it
Hook:
Do it, (come on now)
do it, (come on now)
do it,
(come on) do the damn thang
Verse 3: ???
You can tell a real nigga from the fake fake
A treal nigga that's down in the cake cake
A hot girl that's clean not stank stank
Some bad weave for somebody
So u took a little drank
So i guess it made u think that you could when u can't
Wit the N with the ain't
Ain't nobody got time round here to playing round
Sucka wit the big sack nigga better lay it down
Comin' through ain't bout that shady shit
Boy I'm mo' dirty than Dusty Rhodes
I drop the beat and rock the flo'
Representing that ?Craybodo?
So don't you try to test us out think we country wit no skills
Cuz I drop the bass and tame the bass
Put this fire to yo grill
Verse 4: Rasheeda
Well I was born in Illinois okay ah
Raised in Atlanta, G-A yah
Lived in New York and L.A. yah
My nigga I'm da s--- no matter where I stay
Cuz, uh, I wuz cut like that, lil buddy i'm stacked like that
From da front to da side to da back, Rasheeda, and I'm tight like that
I ain't never been worried bout never
Cutter her buddy, lil buddy I don't studder
9 double lock chrome for the lame lame
Big faces in my pocket not the chump change
Ride the benz with the wood grain, grilled out, smoke frame,
with the knock knock
38 pop pop all you haters just stop
Baby don't get dropped
Hook:
Do it, (come on now)
do it, (come on now)
do it,
(come on) do the damn thang
Verse 4: Pastor Troy
Brrrrdt! Uh, Stick em, ha ha ha, stick em
f--- dem pussy niggas and who ever wit em
All I say is sick em
And there go my boys
D-S-G-B, Pastor damn Troy
Boy you ain't ready
Boy you don't want it
Boy we ain't ready, bitch get disappointed
Shit, all I know is ?circum blo'? not lower than a dime
From thirty piece to quarter ki we strictly on da grind
No time to spit no evidence, no evidence, no joy
Since they ain't got no evidence
I gave them my lil boy
The scars from my hand as I crank up the speaker
Drop the bomb on you bitches, Pastor and Rasheeda
Bitch do it!!
Hook:
Do it, (come on now)
do it, (come on now)
do it,
(come on) do the damn thang
This message has been edited by tidepoetry on Mar 4, 2001 8:24 PM