Letra de LaDaDaDa - YN Jay

(Intro Sample)

Money is not everything, it's the only thing

Yaaah!

Shit!

Ay!

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

(Verse 1)

This is not no dog shit, this a fucking gat, hey

This bitch sellin' cat, she gon' fuck for gas, hey

(Mumbling ad-lib) she wanna fuck the rapper

Hey, she know I'm Coochie Man, she wanna fuck a rapper

(Mumbling ad-lib) you a fucking capper, hey

Heeey, hmmmm

(Mumbling ad-lib)

I turned around, shooting, got me busting backwards

Who dropped the AirTag in this car? This ain't no fucking tracker, hey

You know when I pull up, you ain't even fucking 'llowed to ask for shit, hmm

Her friends get to slackin', make me bust twice

Hey, I thought she wanted me, she wanna fuck Mike

Like how these bitches pray? They only bust twice

He scared to hit the club, I got him drunk twice

We went to the club for one night, but I got drunk twice

I only bought two cups 'cause that mean I'm drunk twice

Blah-blu-blah-blu-blah-blu-blah-blu-blu

Hey, she gave me a pen and told me sign her coochie

(Chorus)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

(Verse 2)

You know I'm pullin' up and I'm with Tay Roc

You know you gotta bring your friend 'cause I'm with 8 Roc

Aye, you know you gotta have a friend for little D, hey

You know that ho you love, man, she in love with me

You know I'm jumpin' in, if it's my brother B

You know this ain't your block, this is my brother's street, hey

You know this ain't my gun, this my brother's heat

Aye, you know we pullin' up when we a hunnid deep

Why the fuck you trying to race me? You can't run with me

Aye, I'm finna walk you down, you better not run from me

This bitch pulled up to my office and ate lunch with me, aye

Beat a nigga ass, you can't punch with me

And we can put the gloves on and go behind the crib

I get to beefin', get real, I'm at your mama crib

This nigga got a car but he ain't got a crib

He got shot below his chest, now he ain't got no ribs

Like how I got a son and I ain't got no kids?

And babies can't come to my house cause I don't like your kids

They bad as hell

They always doin' somethin', got me mad as hell, aye

Nigga did ten, got out, and went back to jail

You must like the jail, you must like your cell

This nigga fucked his custo, you must like yourself

I call bro phone, I didn't write no mail

He had a phone in jail

I'm finna call a demon, I ain't know that they had phones in hell

I walked past your bitch, she got a whiff of my cologne smell

This nigga boomin' dope out his crib, he make home sales

(Chorus)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

La-da-da-da (Yeah!)

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