Lyrics Ibaka - Z-Wayne

Fuck
God damn hoes
This nigga goofie as fuck
Fonds like this what
Boy aye, what? Yeah
Down down down

Catch a opp and we rob him, we mob him, what's popping?
The glock in my pocket get shot in yo face just for talking
Give me noggin', she moppin', she toppin'
If Kid make the beat then you know that bitch jumping and rocking
Stop it, rocket run in yo apartment, no knocking
Kick that nigga door in with 10's in the stopper
We plotting like Capital One, so bitch what's in yo wallet?
'Cause my niggas clocking them pockets
Pocket rocket them bodies be dropping

The police be watching but they can not block it Ibaka
They watching binoculars, send that boy right to the doctor
Then throw my shit right in the washer
He copping and we caught a opp right, when hе was parking
His car at the mall, he was shopping
And we bеat the boy like we boxing, one two pop 'em
Last thing he saw was them problems
And niggas ain't doing no robbing, niggas be Batman
Doc see the shots in the cat scan
And I whip the work with the chef man, and he cook it right
But he beat the pot with the left hand

And If I have a wedding the plug is the best man
Shots at yo head, ain't no need for a vest man
Best friend, I fucked the bitch at the West End
My G got the glock and goon got Smith & Wesson
Like I get into it, I like how she do it, yo bitch slob
And drooling and we running through it
She like, "What you doing?"
I say, "Bitch I'm cooling" I don't want the cooties, I rub on her booty
We Netflix and chill, Imma pick out the movie just go to the store
And bitch bring back the fruities

Timmy work at the pool, toy bring all the groupies
Show boobies, I pull out then fuck in Jacuzzi
White bitch names Suzy work at the best buy
Slim thick cutie, remind me of Left Eye
Ice with the jewels, they like "Look at that guy"
Scat pack glock in that bitch and it's matte black
Matte black, think I meant matte red play with me
That's dead, forty block serving the meth heads
Point me to the bitch in the hood and they call her Pebbles
'Cause I heard that bitch got the best head
She give me her face and I'm coming, we running and gunning
These niggas be slumming, we dumping
My boy Jesus be punching them numbers
You give him your card, best believe he gon' add a few commas

In the summer I pick yo bitch up in the Hummer, can't fuck her
A nigga just ran out of condoms
And I can't wife a bitch, that's like me going straight to a cardy and that shit is fake
Upset ya bitch, I got the water I fuck on your daughter
'Cause that bitch was cute kinda sorta
I been fucking this bitch way before you was starting roulets
At thirty I throw down a quarter
Peaches, I fuck that bitch right in Georgia
Sweet, move that bitch right down to Florida
She geeking, If that head good I record her
Kid Porter, my nigga be fucking his daughter

Yeah, I told these niggas like
One, two, I think this probably the third or fourth time I told these niggas man
I really feel like I'm the best in the muthafuckin', in the world though
You dig what I'm sayin'? (Yeah)
Yeah, yeah yeah
I ain't-ain't really got too much to say much right now though
You dig? Shout out to all these muthafuckin' guys man
The whole gang, Soul Train
You wanted a piece, I'm gettin' the whole thang
Aye now that shit really gon' crazy (yeah)
Yeah, ha, that bitch worry 'bout babies, think I'm crazy, hop in Mercedes
We see you later, I'm gone