paroles de chanson Rock N Roll - Trae

Rock to the beat na,
Uhh,
Gotta Rock to the beat like,
I smell like money. (ahaha)
Yo, I'm a take him up north for a minute,
Where the young n*gga spit it,
I'm the prince,
So it only makes sense,
That I get it,
It's a retro-chain of old school J'z fitted,
All the hoes stand like, " Who Da Fuck Is Dat? ",
And I'm a slide down to the flo',
Back it up,
Stop,
Move ya waist slow,
First we get high, then we get low.
It's the prince of the owners,
You sensitive loners,
All by yourself,
While I'm chilling with' some pimps and a cona',
You push kush in the streets,
I kush in the seats,
And get you double what you ask,
And if you pushin' the beats,

You outta place in my city like Bush in New Orleans,
I'm X-O sippin', Got my ex-hoe strippin',
Purple diamond buy n*gga,
Got my next hoe different,
Got my hues all bluey,
And my shoes all louie,
In my Hubba Bubba whip, So I cruise all chewy,
You funny on the switch,
Money over bitchs,
I'll bet with budget,
And so I keep my money on my bitch,
Drinkin' Nestea,
Cottage with a jet-ski,
Countin' stacks with my girl listenin' to S.B.,
You can never ever find a woman that left me,
I am irraplaceable, Your crushin' never left me.
Ey baby girl,
You gotta rock,
Then you gotta roll,
Take her from the top,
Down to the flo',
Back it up, Stop,
Move ya waist slow,
First we get high,
Then we get low.