clipping. - get.it Lyrics
feat. Kill rogers & TiVo[Verse 1: Daveed Diggs](Uh)***** where your clothesWhy they ain't on the floorPlayer, where is your money?How you gettin' the dough?Colored lights like a discoDowning shots like a missilePut a stamp on that assNow that ass is officialWho getting sick from the thizzing?Who got grease in they kitchen?Who got dollars for *****?Who the ***** is you kidding?Who got kids at home?Don't say nothingTake your shirt off, show 'em somethingWoah, hold upSwag, swag, swag, throw upYeah, you got the club smelling like assLast asses still standing, gon' get it some cashSo get it, get it, get it, get it, get it[Verse 2: Kill Rogers](Yep)Niggas out in line like there's nothing else to doBut it's nothing else to do, with a line full of niggasAiming at the bar, like you waiting for a shot'Till somebody pull the trigger, now everybody dippingGet them flipping out the door, whip it work India JonesRaid this *****, indeed it though***** the world 'til tomorrow comeIt's more abundant be alonePour a blunt and drink the smokeFor the sun up, re-up more upMore you plan to be afloatEverybody going like, "Got to get it, get it gone"Get it 'till that shit is goneGet it 'till them *****es, *****es, *****es, *****es, *****es knowSet the record set in stoneSet in metal, cell a' phoneNiggas reppin', reppin', moreReppin' more now get it, get it, get it[Verse 3: TiVo](Yeah)Light that propane and sizzlePlay that dope game a fiddleYour aim is set, how you mobbing?Working at night like you KimmelHipsters sip that kombucha while my pimp juice is organicI slang that shit out the sliver of my pimp zipper, God damn itWhere the ***** my hoes at?Where the ***** my robe at?I am that trapping HefnerSpilling red meat on my throw backThree *****es in my Nova, comatose, they robo rockingOne of them *****, playing with ***** while holding my johnsonYup, yup, now put your mouth down on itAnd get it, get it, get itTake a breathe and lick itGet it, get it, like you're protein deficientI want to Instagram this and have twenty people like itAnd thumbs up to the camera so these hoes know they're invited[Verse 4: Daveed Diggs](Uh)Cocaine up to the ceilingFiends are snorting the roofStroll in front of the clubDaddy buying some shoesBouncer probably can't be in themEggs are down to the yokeCollared shirts in a line***** that line, it's a jokeAhahahaha, punch linesGet it? Punch linesGet it, get it, get that rum punchLaughing at a mother*****er's lost lunchThrowing bowls, swelling eyes, getting baked, selling piesFlipping birds, counting money, snort it 'till their nose is runnyBlood is trippingThis blood is crippingLeave this blood crippled, then everybody dippingGet it, get it, get it, get it(Woah)
