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Absolutly Correct (Only notes will be sent) Mostly Correct, yet... The lyrics are wrong Very Wrong Not the lyrics to GET IT HOW YOU LIVE
Severity is 3
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Lyric Body	Double x, never less baby Twista and Scott Storch in a dropped Porsche That new shit, check it out [Chorus: 2X] My neck on bling, cris on chill Standing on the corner steady, trying to make a mill When it come to hustling, got to get it how you live And I'm on the come up, so motherfuck how you feel [Verse One] My fingers on frost, ears on froze Hanging at the club while hoes slide down the pole Rolling with the Gs and the Foes and the Souls With two bitches on my arms, sporting thousand dollar clothes Looking kind of stunning, so the cameras on flick Ain't no motherfuckers out here that can do it like this On top of my game, and when a hater's all fall Imma be smiling, revealing my grill from Paul Wall Shake it for me bitch, let me see you get loose Let me see you sipping on some shit that's 80 proof Let me see if Imma let you get up in the ‘lac Bend over so I can see how Imma hit it from the back I hustle wit the rhymes, but I'm better wit the keys And I'm clubbin' wit the pees, I get cheddar wit the fees I'm always on the hustle, so don't ask why I succeed I got flows, I got dro, I got whatever u need [Chorus: 2X] [Verse Two] Tires on shine, rims on gloss When it come to mobbing, Imma motherfucking boss I stay making paper, behind the mic and on the tipping I ain't stingy wit the dust, the whole crew ride slick Think you shitting on the nigga t, I doubt that My flow will make your booty move, like a house track Have 'em at the party screaming, “Get the doe”, “Get the doe” And if I ever go broke, I guarantee to bounce back If beats was like a tipper, then my flow would play the cane Got shit to make you float off the floor, like David Blaine You rich because I spit it universal to the drums And I circle with some guns, blow out purple out my lungs I pimp and fuck a bitch, I don't need to buy her ‘lacs I be on the move, staying paid pushing Cadillacs Investing in my raps, if I don't make a quarter back I throw eight balls to my homies, on the corners like quarterbacks [Chorus: 2X] [Chorus2: 2X] Let me break your back shawty, show me what u got shawty We some motherfuking killers, Chicago made niggaz making figures [Verse Three] Teeth on bling, rolly on flick Standing on the stage while I'm holding on my dick Bout to spit a new verse off out the mobstaz new shit Holla walla pop the colla on my new outfit If you want war, you think you got rounds to come get me I think you better go smoke a whole pound of that sticky keep on talking that you're not hate around your committee Imma dodge that nigga that put it down for the city [Chorus: 4X]
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