A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

Lil Jon lyrics : "Get Crunk"

Once again up in that south from my mother$#[email protected] mouth
And creeping up on y'all ^!$$%s like a mother$#[email protected] mouse
Stepping on these tracks like [email protected]$)s and drag queens

And %#@!ting on you busters like I ate some bake beans

Buster me and me's clicks, always making those hits

We never straight jam with no busters our no tricks
Getting in trouble from the sounds of my trunk
And keeping it crunk, keeping it crunk

(What, What)

Now drop them bozs' on 'em [Repeats]

^!$$% bozs' bout to turn out the show

Crankin' up yo' dance flo' screaming GA hoe
Flipping rhymes and gripping pines with haters looking round
It's time lay it down putting it all up on the line

Ain't no love for haters, smoking doug's potatoes
All these ^!$$%s what they made us from them' boz and craters
While lame done dipped out, we gained the flip flop

Underground where we dwell, the hell with hip hop
Southside just reckless, from GA to Texas
And next it's gone be me flexing in a suburban or lexus

But it seem like the bigger I be, mo' figures I see
The mo' hating ^!$$%s try me
Big baby trick crazy thinking he bout' to fade me

Better sit and wait in consequences fo' you feel you can play me
From a place called T-town be down in the south
Where them' players throw dem' boz and gold teeth in they mouth

And dump dump if ya' jump jump
The club crunk off the funk that we bump bump and pump pump
Through yo' speaker when it reach ya' now you tweaking like Beaker

All the people out there hype as hell, I guess it Lil' Peter
From T-town to Atlanta all the way to Savannah to Alabama
I be damn a club ain't crunk in this manner

I can't stand a weak buster
For all the freaks, hustla's, to the clothes
Y'all gotta get it crunk and drop dem boz, drop dem boz


I can't afford bigger, how ya' figga'
That you gone stop me from stacking six figures
Now you hating on me, because my game so tight

And could you be mad because I $#[email protected] ya' wife
Well it's true, that's the price ^!$$% check that hoe
I'm from the ATL player, wear that reckland ro'

So stop talking all that %#@!, and trying to buck
I'm popping off at the mouth, we get cha' $#[email protected] up, now what's up

Now ladies are you tired of trick (*##$es in yo' mix
Acting like they want, to lick on yo' %#@!
Criticizing, everything that you do

And telling ya' who, and who not to screw
Nasty hoes, that ain't clean and %#@!
They go around sucking on every dope boys dick

Now is these hoes really yo' friend or yo' foes
You tell me, while ya' drop dem' bozs'


Now if the club packed y'all from wall to wall

And everybody trying to ball, coz sizing all
Ain't nothing but love in the air, we geeing and macking
Some haters off in there, but at least they ain't macking

You got cha' cup filled up, ya' ^!$$%s is crunk
Put cha' hands in the air represent where ya' from
I'm from the GA baby, where freaks is shady

Man it can be so crazy, so we burn trees daily
When the beat a drop, everybody just lock ya' boz and shake dem' hoes
And proceed to rock, from the front to the back

With the blunts and gats, on the hunt for some cat or a fat $$# sack
Tear da' roof off the club, show you ^!$$%s some love
And fill a swishe up with bud for my g's and thugs

Now dem' haters keep watching, dem' freaks a jockin'
The beats is rockin', so partner want you keep on dropping
For my thugs


Now right now I want all my hard ^!$$%s to follow me, follow me

That's how these mother$#[email protected] die, they with the %#@! talk [Repeats]

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Thanks to alexandra_feaa