paroles de chanson Run Up on Ya - Elle Varner , Joey Bada$$ , Action Bronson
Yeah,
run
up
on
ya
bitch
like
Probably
run
up
on
ya
bitch
like
Lord,
can
I
get
a
bad
bitch?
High
class
whip,
be
above
the
average
Headed
north
west,
that
two
seater
Kardashian
Type
to
give
me
brain
up
in
the
red
light
traffic
And
keep
ya
head
up,
that
2Pac
blasting
Face
two
stacks
and
then
be
back
into
this
action
No
time
to
relax,
I
need
someone
to
count
this
cash
with
That
match
with,
give
me
what
I′m
askin'
The
lady
in
the
streets
appear
beast
on
that
mattress
That′s
it,
you're
the
only
one
I'm
trying
to
mack
with
But
you
could
be
a
liability
or
fat
(ass)et
How
real
is
that
ass
miss?
Bend
that
shit
backwards
Hit
one
backwood,
crack
the
pussy
like
a
password
Bet
that
pussy′s
last
word
is
master
Ask
her,
roll
my
rocker
til
I
made
that
astronaut
That′s
NASA
thought,
be
that
young
fly,
nasty
one
Swallow
the
seeds,
please,
but
you
can't
catch
me
slipping,
hon
So
let′s
just
ride
away
We
could
die
today
Got
no
time
to
waste
So
just
roll
with
me,
baby
Ride
or
die
Always
by
your
side
Until
the
end
of
time
Driving
me
crazy
First
thing's
first,
I,
Joey
Freaks
all
the
honeys,
mommies,
the
playboy
bunnies
The
hoes
love
me,
get
down
before
the
money
Just
know
shit
could
get
ugly,
but
whether
it
rain
or
sunny
Just
never
worry,
chinchillas
in
February
Vanilla,
that′s
when
you
ready
Check
the
itinerary
whenever
it's
necessary
Keep
my
baby
straight,
peep
my
lady
lace
The
Margiela
to
Doneva
Fool
less
it′s
planned
and
everything
is
in
control
So
hit
the
gas
and
let's
go
It's
no
sleep
til
Brooklyn,
another
beastie
boy
And
she
just
can′t
stop
looking,
she
like
it
raw
Real
spitter
and
all
and
that′s
the
word
of
mouth
And
let
her
sit
in
the
jaw
I'm
so
nasty,
please
just
walk
past
me
So
tempted
to
grab
it,
I
gotta
have
it
We
could
be
living
lavish
so
tell
me,
girl,
right
away
We
could
hit
the
bank
then
escape
to
the
hideaway
Is
you
riding,
riding
with
me?
Is
you
riding?
Is
you
riding,
riding
with
me?
Is
you
riding?
Getting
head
in
the
whip
and
not
crashing
it
FILA
Velour
shorts
set,
half
Arabic
I
sit
in
dove
room
with
candle
lit
Tell
little
mama
handle
it
Or
you
could
leave
the
sandals
on
and
pull
your
skirt
up
I
really
remember
reading
Word
Up
Tiger
Beat,
see
me
on
the
cover
soon,
fold
out
posters
Hanging
on
your
shorties
wall
I
still
be
fucking
women
half
my
age
when
I′m
44
Young
skin,
a
winning
personality
Hard
dick,
million
dollar
salary
These
cheating
refs
calling
fouls
on
me
Break
the
fucking
whistle
off
in
his
ass,
now
hit
the
road,
Jack
Hop
off
the
bozack,
the
.44
clap
You'll
need
low
jack
to
define
your
whole
back
Euros′ll
get
down,
you
know
that
Swimming
trunks
and
throwback
Yeah,
you
know
that
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