Testo Stick Out Ya Wrist - Nelly feat. Toya
Testo della canzone Stick Out Ya Wrist (Nelly feat. Toya), tratta dall'album Nellyville
Uh, uh-oh
Uh, uh, uh, uh
Yeah, uh, uh
Uh, uh, uh
C'mon
Hey mister, stick out your wrist, how many in this?
Stick out your chest, are those baguettes?
I need to see how deep them pockets get
Let me see if all that shit you talkin' really legit
Fifteen miles an hour, maybe so
You can make it straight from your seat to your front door
You can get a glimpse of the one that they call more
Mr. Low Pro, feds peepin' like, "There he go"
Too late now to put your bite on me
Y'all done waited too long, I got a tax I.D
Right I.D., proper registration
Never thought I'd see full coverage on my V
Hold up, slow it down, and let me think about it
Froze up, everything that you can see around me
My neck, wrist, arm, the whole nine
Now just take your best shot and I'll dirty your whole mind
Got cats goin' to jail, tryin' to do what I do
I got cats goin' through hell when that thang come through
02, Light gray blue
Stitched in the carpet, you know who
Hey mister, stick out your wrist, how many in this?
Stick out your chest, are those baguettes?
I need to see how deep them pockets get
Let me see if all that shit you talkin' really legit
Okay, then let me see you do it, baby (Okay)
Don't be afraid, go now
Don't be ashamed of how you do it, baby
Just go 'head and make your mama proud
Jack Frost, fuck it, what it cost?
Who's the boss? Flaws is applesauce
Dirty Horry Brey, bought milk on Thursday
Now I buy Escalades on birthdays
Lex and Merce-des on D's
Ease off these in hoopties
I cough and sneeze with frostbit sleeves
But it's not just me, for real, it's my family
Keep it run down, keep it poppin' 'til sun down
Dirty, come now, I'ma show you who run the town
Your baby daddy's most hated, can't listen to my song
When he at home, irritated when the video on
What make it worse is when them niggas see my ass in the club
Poppin' the bub' and spendin' a hundred for e'ry dub
That he got in his hand, I'm at it again
I don't think I really can stand, a lunatic plan, word
Hey mister, stick out your wrist, how many in this?
Stick out your chest, are those baguettes?
I need to see how deep them pockets get
Let me see if all that shit you talkin' really legit
Okay, then let me see you do it, baby (Okay)
Don't be afraid, go now
Don't be ashamed of how you do it, baby
Just go 'head and make your mama proud
You can call me what you want, but call me a come up
Before you run up, make sure your funds up
Why, I'm about some shit I heard you ain't never seen
Bacardi wristbands, Mo' Denim starched jeans
Diablo boots with the Porsche strings
I got the 'Rema t-shirt with the Bentley sleeves
Four-door swoosh, made by Nike
Drop-top jumpman, sent by Mike
You got to like me, player, I'm in it for the dough
I'm in it for show, matter fact, I'm in it to blow
When I wake up in the mornin', I'll be in it some more
Guaranteed anytime, dial 3-1-4
Don't need Escargot, but got a S-car to go
Zero to sixty, Dirty, in four-point-oh
Second-rankin' niggas everywhere that I go
I got the same, gotta have it, grabbin', have it for sure, come on
Hey mister, stick out your wrist, how many in this?
Stick out your chest, are those baguettes?
I need to see how deep them pockets get
Let me see if all that shit you talkin' really legit
Okay, then let me see you do it, baby (Okay)
Don't be afraid, go now
Don't be ashamed of how you do it, baby
Just go 'head and make your mama proud
Uh, uh, uh
Uh, uh
Uh, uh, uh
Uh, uh
Hey mister, stick out your wrist, how many in this?
Stick out your chest, are those baguettes?
I need to see how deep them pockets get
Let me see if all that shit you talkin' really legit
Okay, then let me see you do it, baby (Okay)
Don't be afraid, go now
Don't be ashamed of how you do it, baby
Credits
Writer(s): Cornell Haynes, Jason Epperson
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