Sickalicious Lyrics - Street Dreams - Fabolous

Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, yeah 

Yeah, uh, uh, yeah, uh, uh 

They call me G H E T T O 

Get Black Star power, like B E T shows 

I'm usually pullin' up in the G T slow 

Flashing my ring finger with the E T glow 

I'm that nucca, act rucka 

Certified plat nucca 

Semi-auto, gat bucca 

Take that fucka, lay flat sucka 

I'm the Negro, amigo 

Get every bay from Tampa to Montigo 

They say I got the lifestyle, and the E glow 

I'm in the blow range, no matter where he go 

I'm that homie, gat on me 

I'm the kid not that phony 

Anybody that know me 

Knows I'm here to get that money, yeah 

Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey 

24 shoes on my Hummer 

And they fitting tight, Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right? 

If you a hater make my gun go, blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka 

They call me F A B O L O U S 

You just lay down slow, nigga 

Know this before this, trey pound blow 

Spit game, get dames to lay down low 

I'm da poppy cholo 

The cops say the tops on the drops is to low 

I shop till I drop, when I'm coppin' new clothes 

Bop in the hop but don't stop to use hoes 

I'm that new dude, that include 

Making sure silencers in the gat is screwed 

With an, 'It Don't Even Matter' mood 

And a, 'Fuck You, Pay Me', attitude 

I'm that young boy, that slung boy 

That'll have 'em saying, where you get that from, boy? 

I'm still leaving niggas, at one choice 

So, run when you hear, that gun noise, blat 

You say you rich, then come and talk that shit to me 

(Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka) 

Buy your DVD's and TV's but I like shoes on my Jeep 

(Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka) 

24-inch wheels and a good gold grill in the front 

(Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka) 

Gotta closet made for big clothes 

Gotta do more then treat me to lunch, uh huh 

Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey 

24 shoes on my Hummer 

And they fitting tight, Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right? 

If you a hater make my gun go, blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka 

They call me William H period Bonnie 

I ride in a seven series with Tommie's 

I make another on of America's hotties 

And I'm that serious, Mommy 

I'm the one like the Jet Li flick, the private jet ski's sick 

The motors on the jet ski's quick 

The clips in the sets be thick 

And I done slipped more shots in then Gretzky's stick 

I'm the one like Penny Hardaway's number 

That's why dudes say it's hard to keep my broad away from ya 

Once your bitch, get the god 2-way number 

It'll be hard to get a 'Happy Father's Day' from ya 

I'm the one, like the piece that's on Nelly chain 

You can't reach me, I'm out of your celly range 

Bitch, I'll even put canary's up in your belly chain 

And just to beat the traffic, hop in a helly main 

Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey 

24 shoes on my Hummer 

And they fitting tight, Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right? 

If you a hater make my gun go, blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka 

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