Letra de Hoodrat (Who This?) - DJ Ess Mix - BabyTron

(Feat. DJ Ess)

New crib, who this? New whip, who this? (This that money counter music)

New crib, who this? New whip, who this? (You know we're not from this universe, right?)

New crib, who this? New whip, who this?

New blick, who this? New switch, who this? (Isis Gang)

You need a new bitch, you need a new everything

You need a new kit, at least get some new kicks

You need to beat your ho ass, she sendin' nude pics (It's the label)

R-H-U-D-E, I'm on my rude— (Evil Empire, it's the gang)

(Ayy, how the fuck I end up in the hood?)

How the fuck I end up in the 'burbs with a hoodrat?

Ricky Owens with the zippers, bitch, I'm in my bookbag, come and get schooled

Bitch, take your spend-the-night bag back in the crib

I was out the way, but now I'm back up on the grid

Cud-Cuddy in the kitchen with a slab, but not no ribs

Might as well sit down, 'cause when they stand, it's not on biz

(This is a Isis Gang production)

Is you scared of money?

Play with mines, I'm on your ass just like a pair of undies

We'll make it rain when the game ends, storm the field

Unky prayin' that he beats the case and dodge a court ap—

You ain't, you ain't got a chance to hit my bitch, she too expensive

In here wrestlin' with these pants, you tryna battle through depression

You gotta buy the sauce, do this look like a Free Methodist?

Cut a brick and pull a baby out, I just C-sectioned it

Talk so much shit, talk so much shit

Talk so much shit, I got reminders set to eat peppermints

I done, I done slayed hoes from Telegraph to East Jefferson

Can you beat Militia, pussy? Can you eat beverages?

If you want a job, the requirements three references

Tryna make it last forever, but ain't Keith Sweatin' it

Ain't no plays on your phone like why you keep checkin' it?

Pull up in that white TRX like, "Meet Pegasus"

I gotta jump like I'm tryna dunk to get into the truck

You done got drunk and turned into a munch, you a punk

You a crumb, you a chump, you a bum, you a flunk

Got these lil' hoes suckin', same ones you would hump

Catch him out in traffic, leave him honkin' with his f—

Catch him out in traffic, leave him honkin' with his—

Catch him out in traffic, leave him honkin' with his forehead

You won't hear me, you won't hear me talkin' like my phone dead

We'll paint they block like that bitch on an easel

Tryna get these oranges off, but all the junkies on the needles

I done made over a hundred motion pics, Walt Disney

Yeah, I got some dogs with me, but I ain't gon' toss Frisbees

Finna run it up, it ain't no walk in me

Teeth marks on my goosebumps, the chains frostbit me

Everybody talkin' down like I won't be done bought Ypsi

The whole 48197, 48198

Slide through, just a call, 1-481-9-DRAC

Oh, you want the BIN? well, it's 54819— wait

I can't give it to you

I gotta face all this drank, I can't sip it with you

Ain't no holdin' hands, shit, it's life, I can't live it with you

If you gang, if you slime, I'ma split it with you, I'ma go and get it with you

I'm livin' life, but I'm prepared for death

She gon' blow me, I'ma play her like a clarinet

She just spun you, talkin' 'bout her hair a mess

Best thing I did was turn my hustle up, start carin' less

New crib, who this? New whip, who this?

New blick, who this? New switch, who this?

You need a new bitch, you need a new everything

You need a new kit, at least get some new kicks

You need to beat your ho ass, she sendin' nude pics

R-H-U-D-E, I'm on my rude tip

I'm the reason Ruth Chris out of toothpicks

I'm the reason Somerset out of new drip

You gon' live the same old life 'til you take new risks

Everybody turned they water dirty, this the new Flint

​evian off a V-cut, that's the blueprint

Kevion, B&C, Benny, that's a few sticks

My ho Lavagirl, I'm Sharkboy in these blue tints

FakeWatchBuster's on the way, he got a fluke wrist

Had to shoot the Banshee through my coat, that's why the Goose ripped

How the fuck I'm movin' too slow off of two sips?

I don't sell work, but my left wrist, that's two bricks

Someone find my Lincoln jersey, I'm back on my hoop shit

I'm tryna score buckets

I can have a milli' Midi-chlorians, won't force nothin'

If you ain't start strong, you gotta finish double hard

I done got mines broke, I done tore a couple hearts

Shit, it's all fun and games 'til you see that muzzle spark

Boy, I'm finna push the pedal like here come that rumble part (Vroom)

Hundred turkey bags, they smellin' like some underarms

Up the glitchy, I ain't shy, I am not the Thunder guard

Man, the spring, fall, winter, and summer ours

Flyin' off an eight of Quagen, damn near playin' bumper cars

ShittyBoyz, Dog Shit Militia, long live $cam, you know

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