Choosin Lyrics - New Jet City - Curren$y

Uh, daytime lights on 

Hell yeah I'm frontin' but you love it 

I don't hide bitch, I'm high when I'm in public 

Even in my everyday ride I be stuntin' 

This is nothing really, you should see me Sunday 

I'm from New Orleans love, you know how I'm coming 

Hop out that Impala, left the motor running 

Them my lil homies front that store, they ain't gone touch it 

Spitta where you goin', finna meet the money 

I come through in that bread truck, everybody hungry 

I be trynna keep it low, but the streets be talking 

I heard they think I'm selling dope, on them walkie talkies 

They worst than them bitches, them bitches be stalkin' 

Outside checkin' for which car a nigga parkin' 

She said she from Belize, but she can speak Ferrari 

I roll that tree and I write a song about it in the morning 

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Pull up in that errrr and them bitches start choosin' 

Choosin', choosin', choosin', choosin' 

Pull off in that skrrrrr and them haters gone lose it 

Lose it, lose it, lose it, lose it 

Pull up, pushing buttons blowing OG like it's nothing 

Marijuana fussin, smoking loud is no discussion 

Black & Yellow, Black & Yellow, something out of nothing 

Choppers like the Russians, bust your head that's a concussion 

Full time grinder, all the time hustlin' 

Bitch, I'm from the Burg so you know that I be thuggin' 

Made it from the bottom, so in God we put our trust in 

Certified stoner, get a Raw and put a nug in 

Rari's, Rari's, Rari's, Lamborghini hari kari 

Suicidal doors, tell the owner I said sorry 

Pull up in that you know, pockets fat like sumo 

Taylor Gang or Die, Jet 'La La La' Life! 

Photos 

My homies, we sold pills, The motive was chrome wheels 

Pullin' up to club Liv, makin' them hoes peel 

My niggas was way trill, wardrobe was unreal 

My Cuban was Spanish gold, so vintage as my Cazals 

I'm talking the facts of life, can I just have a slice? 

Best seats at the game, 'Bron having a night 

Let him go check the stats, cause all I want is the racks 

Even moving the merch, I'm getting 60 a hat 

MC on all my luggage, Reebok making me buttered 

Behike Cuban cigars bombaclot he think he Dudus 

Double M, we the hottest on the fucking turf 

I'm going straight to heaven, crib built like the church