Quarterback Lyrics - Singles - Baby Bash

Fo sho' 

Pass that sweet nigga 

And quit bumpin' yo gums 

See that shit you be barkin' mayne 

I already done 

At least twice mutha fucka 

Bling-blingin' some ice 

The dope game hall of fame 

I'm in like Jerry Rice 

Money fanatic 

This nigga known for shootin' sparatic 

Automatic wit' the gadget 

Lettin' them suckas have it 

Like magic, "Abra Cadabra" 

Squash the chitter chatter 

Your blatter is fin to splatter 

When these hollow points scatter 

Oh he bald headed, tatted up 

And got his swole on 

Gang-banged out 

Rowdy than get his roll on 

Plus he think he hard 'cause he just got out the pen 

Think I give a fuck 

I put hands on that man 

I'm from the shoulders 

Holdin' kilo's, pounds, and quarters 

Smoke wit the smokers 

Servin' all you sodas 

From border to border 

Blaze your quarter on the freeway 

I got your mama and your sister havin' 3-ways 

Give a fuck nigga! 

I'm not trippin' 

Baby Bash-a-reeny 

What the fuck is you sippin'? 

Pimpin' the hood chicken 

Mayne, it's off the Richter 

Got the game locked like a boa constrictor 

[Mr. Kee] 

Boy I stay saved out like a playa should 

Nigga don't smash out to a whole 'nother hood 

Late night, plane flight 

With a quart of G's 

Black-N-Brown, Ryda Thugz 

Keep it all to the good mayne 

Still colla poppin' 

Still feddy clockin' 

Gotta keep this shit knockin' 

'cause me and Beesh be known for flossin' 

Game tight stitch like a brand new fit 

Like a drop top cad 

With an all chrome kit 

Top notch bitch who will low-cat trip 

Gotta treat 'em all the same 

Get 'em off my dick 

Shiftin' the fifth 

And shake them haters 

'cause they be doin' too much 

It's Mr. Kee straight up out the bay 

Wit soldiers ready to bust 

But the ruger keep rudely 

Spittin' slugs be hittin' 

Tryin' to act hard 

But your sharp as a kitten 

Cup cake nigga 

Fake ass wigga 

West Side Ryda stays unforgiven 

Women and cash 

But the past ain't my style 

Spinnin' out of control 

Like I'm diggin' my own grave 

But I get paid 

Gotta stay thugged up to this lifestyle 

Chorus: [Baby Beesh] 

'cause I'm a quarterback 

I smoke a quarter sack 

Bash-a-reeny fettuccine 

Mayne I told you that 

'cause I'm a quarterback 

I smoke a quarter sack 

Bash-a-reeny fettuccine 

Mayne I told you that 

Ugh get your gritz on 

Get your gritz on, boy get your gritz on 

Get your gritz on, get your gritz on 

Playboy get your gritz on