paroles de chanson Shots - Duc

Shots shots shots shots shots shots shots shots

DIB Got The Heat

Riding the bus on freeway (freeway!)
MAYDAY, MAYDAY
All of my cars got towed away (towed away!)
MAYDAY, MAYDAY
All of my weaves on layaway
Pay day, pay day
So much honey that I'm getting chunky
Make way, make way
So little money so we bunking
Make way, make way
Hold that tech while I'm coming outside
Hold this bag while you're waiting on the side
Take this wheel homie
Take this wheel homie
Take this wheel homie
Take this wheel homie
Things getting real homie
Things getting real homie
Things getting real homie
Things getting real homie

Shots, shots, shots
We throwing shots on ya
Shots, shots, shots
We throwing shots on ya
Shots, shots, shots
Don't do your shots homie
Shots, shots, shots
Don't do your shots homie

Shots! Shots! Shots!
We throwing shots on ya (we throwing shots on ya)
Shots! shots! shots!
We throwing shots on ya (yah, yah, yah, yah)
Shots! Shots! Shots!
Don't do your shots homie
Shots! Shots! Shots!
Don't do your shots homie

(I feel like they got no idea
What's about to hit them
I'm like a train...)

Alright
(Yah, yah, yah, yah)

She did her shots
I did her not
She still calling me
She like a bot
Told her she's hot
She won't stop calling me
I gave her compliments, ah
She liking my condiments, ah
Telling me that she a hot mess, ah
Take all your shots and bless up
She didn't mind, I didn't mind
None of us mind (no!)
She got a mind though
That of a blind goat
That of a sideshow
Woah
She didn't mind though
Telling me that she a hot mess, ah
Take all your shots and bless up

Shots, shots, shots
We throwing shots on ya
Shots, shots, shots
We throwing shots on ya
Shots, shots, shots
Don't do your shots homie
Shots, shots, shots
Don't do your shots homie

Shots! Shots! Shots!
We throwing shots on ya (we throwing shots on ya)
Shots! shots! shots!
We throwing shots on ya (yah, yah, yah, yah)
Shots! Shots! Shots!
Don't do your shots homie
Shots! Shots! Shots!
Don't do your shots homie

Emory signing me, selling me
Get a chain, sign a piece
That isn't slavery, what isn't slavery?
I got a prophecy
Coppers on top of me, mommas on top of me
Doctors pronouncing me dead on the murder scene
Cracka fiends got to me rappers they got to be
Happy for killing me, finally rid of me
Finally rid of me
Finally rid of me

Shots! Shots! Shots!

Shots! Shots! Shots!
(Yah, yah, yah)
Shots! Shots! Shots!

Shots! Shots! Shots!