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Lirik Lagu Don't Play Wit It - Yung Joc

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(feat. Big Gee)
[Yung Joc]What it is man (sup?)Yung Joc, Block EntertainmentYeah, you wan' know somethin? (What'chu wanna know nigga?)I'ma take this motherfuckin time to let y'all niggaz knowI'm tired of playin games.. I'm tired of playin wit'chu man(Preach on) Y'all niggaz comin up short on your moneyYour re-up shit ain't right (nope, nope)Your grams off nigga, get that shit right(Tell 'em shawty) Let me talk to y'all
This ain't make believe so why the fuck is you playinYou better listen close to what the fuck I'm sayinCause really all it takes is a couple grandLike AT&T I reach out and I touch a manOr I can let it go cause it ain't nuttin manBut naw it's the principle so fuck what you sayinE'ry dollar I want it, e'ry dime I need thatSo when it's time to break bread gimme no feedback (shhh)Cause you don't want to piss me offAnd I get to poppin like we poppin CristalSee I cain't help it, that's just how we get downLet off a couple rounds, turn your smile to a frownYeahhh I know, you think I'm bluffin'Til I kick the do' and the goons they rush inLay down on the flo' where you keep the coke inYou say "I don't know" then your blood start gushin
[Chorus 2X: Yung Joc]I done told your ass once (once) told your ass twice (twice)Fuckin with my paper, you're fuckin wit'cha life (wit'cha life)Don't play with it (blam) don't play with it (blam)Don't play with it (blam) nigga don't play with it (blam)
[Big Gee]Here he come once again Mr. Murder ManSmokin on the purple bad, pistol in my other handFuckin with my rubberbands get your ass murdered fastChop you up and chop ya, then stuff ya in a duffel bagRide wit'cha in the trunk 'til ya smellin badGet your daughter after class, ride by snatch her assI know a pussy nigga owe me a couple stackPop him like he never had, but the nigga holdin back (nah)I ain't trippin now I'm lettin 'em pass, got that assSo I'm in the good, nigga smokin like a thermostatFlashin hella stacks, pie nigga PontiacActin for these hoes with my money, what kinda shit is that?I ain't feelin that, pay me for my fuckin packE'ry dime off e'ry zone, don't gimme that (nah)See it time for the chrome, go on pull it outSad Sunday service for the sucker in the parking lot
[Chorus]
[Yung Joc]Better know the repercussions fuckin with my dividendsYeah I got a hitman for the hitmenLeave your baby momma numb and I touch many fansIf ye ain't tryin to see it I suggest you start prayinAll I'm sayin; don't try to play me like I'm softTreat you like mosquitoes when I skeet you with that OffThat Joc crawl blood, nigga call me Red CrossLeave your wig leakin like you spilled spaghetti sauce
[repeat 2X]Fuckin with my paper - ye ain't rightI'ma send them gators - in the middle of the nightLet 'em split your tater - in front your wifeNo one can save ya - put out your lights
[Chorus]
[voice speaking over Chorus to end]C'mon manThat ain't how you do the shit bruhOut'chea playin with a nigga money and shitThat ain't the shit to be fuckin withIt's hard out'chea in these streets niggaFuckin people fuckin wit'chaNiggaz rattin and shitThat ain't what's up dawgIt's the big dawg DieselYung Joc in the building, ya heard me?