Joey BADA$$ - Word Is Bond Lyrics
[Verse 1]Got the reggies from the BushGet lifted like a saint off the kush, man all my niggas pushSo I always got the zipstock in the ZiplockStay lo, like Ralph lip stock, hit the Mary, won't kiss and tellMy lips locked but my grip's not so I pass it offReal burners, and we ashing off your furniture***** your couch, *****, hush your mouthShe said she fell in one of them Ls, but lust don't countThese chickens don't love me, they love the accountBut they will never know what's the amount, I keep the hoes in check'Til they bounce, don't ever let a chick see you withdrawnThese niggas want to know what I draw withBut won't respond to what I've drawnTetrahedrons, take a dose of PatronWith knowledge juice and deuce Cubes of MetatronThey wouldn't hear the tone through a megaphone, let aloneCella phone, but my line stay hella blownHella blown, hella blown[Verse 2]Yo Houston, we got a problem, copyFour, five hotties in the lobbySaid that they can blow the rockets properly, but blow up spots and never stopLike them aki's, they never get aqui to my propertyKnown around my city like George PatakiYoung Jason for them dollars in the mix like teriyakiAnd round four, I force my large VersaceOver my big head, cause I don't live here, she getting too *****yWon't spot me in no closetI ain't like Kels and themHer closet full of arm limbs and a skeleton[Verse 3]I spray nines on foes, bet if you pick five emceesSeven, ain't gone flow like me, nigga I'm two-sixI mean too sick, sent to Earth just to shitMami, come steer, some new stick, got a man?, I don't give two shitsBetter tell that doofus deuces before he catch a whippingHit him in his Charles Dickens and strip him for his Scottie PippensCause it's all about the big pimpingRob him for his Nixon, and then question him about his timingRight here, it gets reckless, best advice isTo tuck your necklace, and put your arms right back into your LexusCause G-Stone Crips, they ain't nothingTo flex with, and billy gang Pyru, they really on some next shitSo if I were you I would probably ride with twoNo fool, not two dudes, two toolsAs in deuce-deuce cause niggas jack you for your soulAnd your new shoes and your jewels tooThere's something about another nigga having shitThat have a nigga spazzing clips all up in your back and dipCause it's all about bagging the baddest chickStacking them chicks up in Saks FifthBut word is bond, you been onWord is bond, you been on
