Texty:
Grade Weave

our strategies lend themselves to confusion our inhibitions spoil everything where should i begin where do i stop where do i start we don't inherit

our strategies lend themselves to confusion our inhibitions spoil everything where should i begin where do i stop where do i start we don't inherit we

a five star bitch I need a 5 star bitch I need a 5 star bitch I want a five star bitch (Yo Gotti) It's ya boy yo gotti, I do grade A shit I'm the realist

is open, nuts you ate it Player on the side, I know he hate it Alligator shoes, I'm tailor made it Fuck high-class, we move low-graded Last night what

Chorus 2X She got some micros, she got a weave wrap She got it locked up I can smell the beeswax Now let me pull ya hair( pull ya hair) 3X Verse 1: Shortie

anymore But some days I sit and wish I was a kid again Back in the days, but now the year is '87 '88 that's when my crew and I were in junior high In 7th grade

word. I hope so. Those are the 7 you can never say on television, under any circumstanses. You just cannot say them ever ever ever. Not even clinically. You cannot weave

[Chorus: x2] She got some micros, she got a weave wrap She got it locked up I can smell the beeswax Now let me pull ya hair(pull ya hair) 3X [Verse 1

Here come the gangstas...Uh huh and you can't see their face...Uh huh" [x2] "They're comin' for you" [Verse 1:] CT all day, bad news all day Grade school