Young'n

Brooklyn

Uh, uh, uh, uh

Huh, huh, uh-huh, yeah

Uh, uh, uh, uh

Uh, what's going on? Uh

Rollin', gold two-seater

Stash in the dash hold two heaters

Blocka, put holes through beaters

Ghetto Fab, stroll through cheaters

Ballin', Brooklyn don

Addicted to Cris, hooked on Dom

Fifty G's, hookers on

Ma, I wanna see how you look in thongs

Hustlin', guys that's simple

'Cause I chop rocks the size of mentos

Blame me, I tried to hint

Look at the hurp, your eyes'll squint closed

Pimpin', here's a new way to flirt

Listen to the two-way alert, it goes...

Let's go, V.I.P., boo, raise your skirt

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

I'm gangsta, y'all just wannabes

Federal agents on the P's

Thirty a gram, twenty-eight on the keys

Got a good lawyer, I'm gonna squeeze

Thuggin', jeans and Timbs

Fitted to the front, lean the brim

Ride, but never on teenage rims

And I keep a .45 between my limbs

Stylin', y'all heard about my kick game

I'm on the parkay, you see me at the Knick game

Probably seen this tatted on your chick frame

F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S

Ridin', y'all know as well I do

That's the way you can tell I blew

So I got a deal, I sell pies too

'Cause before I hit the pens, I'm gettin' bailed by Clue

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

Cruisin', top on the 'Cedes low

Turn this up when you hear this on the radio

Blastin', with the 1980 flow

Make the necks on the ladies go (Woo)

Holla, that's what a pretty thug'll do

Hit Branson, get a fifty jug or two

Y'all throwin' on them gritty mugs for who?

Like y'all don't know what fifty grams'll do

Hatin', I just bought the Uz'

I put y'all in them front page articles

I got 'em lookin' at the Billboard charts confused

And I still freestyle to start the Clue's

Rampin', I'm that kid who 'bout the dough

I done copped the shit and started droughts before

Shit platinum, out the door

Now I drop the top down just to shout the whore

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)

Holla back, young'n (Woo, woo)

Holla back (Woo, woo)