| Timbaland & Magoo lyrics
Baby Bubba lyrics
(feat. Petey Pablo)
(Pop a Dom boo, what, c'mon)
[Petey Pablo]
It's the dippy dippy don now you heard that
Let's take you back, where the original Tim the bird at
I got shit here to make you down on twelve-pack
Call Rudy, tell him hook us up a twenty sack
C'mon c'mon c'mon, we ballin y'all
Where my cats think you feel me at
Alla y'all, and when we earn that
They finally let the dish and the pan
Then I start with some cash
Let me get to Virginia (V-A) link up with Timbaland
Now I'm bustin they ass
Now they callin me The Incredible Man
I'ma shit it sick like YEAHHH
And there is one thing to understand
Y'all know what it is and Petey is just what I am
Spit what I spit cause I don't give a damn
Spin like just like y'all spin at the mall in blue drawers
On some du-rag, it's 'bout to be the all that is
New broad, new day, new cars, new motherfuckin deal
Heyyyyyy
[Chorus: Petey Pablo]
Heyyyyyyyyyy baby bubba
If y'all feel it let me hear you say
Heyyyyyyyyyy baby bubba
We lost the music selector
Heyyyyyyyyyy baby bubba
If y'all feel it let me hear you say
Heyyyeyyyeyyyyy baby bubba
Well he caught me in the van, the gun chat lean fah-ward
[Timbaland]
Check me out in my black Trans-Am dippin on that man, who that be
TIM-BA-land, now haters wanna get at me
Just because we three brothers dippin in the FLY RIDE
He don't care though, nigga we just three FLY GUYS
all up in your local mall pickin all your local broads
HOLLA - if you wanna get into a local brawl
We the in-timidators, y'all in-timidated
by our bling bling ring ring, and I can't debate it
LOWRIDERS (bzz bzzt) hittin on switches
As we PASS BY YA (bzz bzzt) in sun fire - c'mon!
What y'all need to do is throw that shit up, shit up
For the cool amigos with Tequila in the gut
What y'all know about them Southern girls with them big butts
What y'all know about them buckshots bustin from a truck
Yeah, yeah - that's that Southern hospitality
The come of the me, the come of the Pete
The come of the 'goo, the come of the G
[Chorus]
[Magoo]
Mag spit it 'til I die fucker
You wit your label kissin ass like a damn sucker
Meanwhile, Mag in Virginia in some house shoes, watchin the news
Do my album when I'm ready, tell my label to sue
If I got it I'ma get 'em, it's cornered and sell some ()
from N-Y to floater while I'm humpin your daughter
Stayin in the French quarter and listen to Juvenile
I like that South shit, all my niggaz is wild
You gotta come up with a new plan, I'm sayin man
South boys ain't fuckin playin - check them
This week got OutKast and No Limit, and Eightball
Scarface, Ludacris, and Goodie Mob, UHH
We do it country cause we proud of this shit
All those that wanna hate on hip-hop can eat a dick
I ain't a thug and I ain't tryna be
They tryna take my love man and it bothered me
[Chorus - repeat 2X]
Other Timbaland & Magoo lyrics:
Beep Beep lyrics
Feel It lyrics
Up Jumps Da' Boogie lyrics
Clock Strikes lyrics
15 After Da' Hour lyrics
Ms. Parker lyrics
Luv 2 Luv U (Remix) lyrics
Luv 2 Luv U lyrics
Smoke In Da' Air lyrics
Intro Buddha lyrics
Peepin' My Style lyrics
Writtin' Rhymes lyrics
Deep In Your Memory lyrics
Clock Strikes (Remix) lyrics
Sex Beat (Interlude) lyrics
Man Undercover lyrics
Joy lyrics
Up Jumps Da Boogie (Remix) lyrics
I Get It On lyrics
To My lyrics
Here We Come lyrics
Wit' Yo' Bad Self lyrics
Lobster & Scrimp lyrics
What Cha Know About This lyrics
Can't Nobody lyrics
What Cha Talkin' 'bout lyrics
Put 'Em On lyrics
Fat Rabbit lyrics
Who Am I lyrics
Talking On The Phone lyrics
Keep It Real lyrics
John Blaze lyrics
Birthday lyrics
3:30 In The Morning lyrics
Bringin' It lyrics
Drop lyrics
All Y'all lyrics
It's Your Night lyrics
Indian Carpet lyrics
Party People lyrics
People Like Myself lyrics
Serious lyrics
Roll Out lyrics
Love Me lyrics
In Time lyrics
Considerate Brotha lyrics
Beat Club lyrics
| |