- Lyrics
- Album list
- Singer Intro
Too Short( Too $hort )
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Burn Rubber
Lyricist:Robert Arthur Ford, James B Moore, Harry Palmer, Todd Anthony Shaw, Russell W Simmons, Jonathan H Smith, Lawrence Smith
Inside beotch, yeah, you know about that Real players, the real ones
I burn rubber on you quick as hell You need some toilet paper, don't shit on yourself When you see me rollin' in luxury I won't fuck witchu, so don't fuck with me
I'm just ridin', sidin', whippin' an' dippin' I look at all the young hoes trippin' It's no big deal when little hotties get hot When niggaz get jealous, somebody get shot
You in love? Might make you lose your mind That's why I run these gray girls, two at a time With no discretion, to me you're so depressin' Actin' like you don't know my profession
I look at them thighs an' look at them titties Take your ass straight on out of Sin City Wearin' all pink just like Hello Kitty Bringin' back all C-notes an' no fifties
Burnin' rubber on these bitches, so fast
Burn rubber as you smash all fast Tell it like Short, no ass, no pass All you Santa Claus players, be on your way With a bag full of toys on the back of your sleigh
You hit your girl's house, one by one Climb down the chimney an' give 'em all somethin' Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com You trick, don't come around me frontin' Talkin' 'bout how you pimpin', givin' hoes what they wantin'
You worse than a studio gangsta Behind closed doors, gettin' his booty hole spanked up You suckers disrespect the game All these video hoes out there spittin' your name
You love it when they make that ass clap But she don't give me no cash, I'll pass it back I kick her where she stash the crack In the plastic sack, when she crash the Lac, punk bitch
They tryin' to give the rap game to some real punks It's just like when disco killed the funk Can't tell me nothin', when I know I'm right Like a bowlegged bitch with a overbite, that suck it right
Player, this pimp don't lie How many porn stars you know that went to Crenshaw High? A lotta fuckin' for a whole lotta nuttin' You just wannabe noticed, so you're out there sluttin'
I never really cared about popular fame It's all about sittin' on top of the game So don't stop 'til your panties drop Fuck the mayor, the preacher an' a cop
You better tell him what it cost, get his mind on track 'Cause he look like he lost Bring him back an' dig in his pockets quick Steal his watch an' make sure he got a grip, bitch
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