More songs by ScHoolboy Q
More songs by Jay Rock
Description
Producer: Pharrell Williams
Composer Lyricist: Q. Hanley
Composer Lyricist: P. Williams
Composer Lyricist: Johnny McKinzie
Lyrics and translation
Original
I'm a groovy type nigga, rather two-step wit cha.
Pants saggin', rag draggin', rather gang bang wit cha. Tryna squeeze, dog alley, throw them thang thangs wit ya.
Hot degrees, antifreeze, chillin' cool cool wit ya. Cool wit ya, cool wit ya.
Chillin' cool cool wit ya. Hot degrees, antifreeze, chillin' cool cool wit ya.
Cool wit ya, cool wit ya. Chillin' cool cool wit ya.
Pants saggin', do my gang bang wit ya.
Groovy nigga jump up off the fence, forced by my third leg, leave the fifth.
No L's, no whips, backyard full of Crips.
Barbecues and County Blues, who thinks to be the shit? It ain't much up on the list, shoot the killer hittin' licks.
Get EBT up out the bitch, gang bangin' fuck a clique.
Not lookin' for a scrap, see my crippin' done spread around the world.
But it's top and lowest bottom, it's the reaper, reaper, reaper.
Lookin' like the reaper in your driveway, straight to your livin' room.
Live on the drive by on a summer day, July 4th but be in June.
Block tip, block tip, block tip, block boom.
The sound of the drum that grips the bloods loooove. Block tip, block tip, block tip, block boom.
The sound of the drum scene. I'm a groovy type nigga, rather two-step wit ya.
Pants saggin', rag draggin', rather gang bang wit ya.
Tryna squeeze, dog alley, throw them thang thangs wit ya. Hot degrees, antifreeze, chillin' cool cool wit ya.
Cool wit ya, cool wit ya. Chillin' cool cool wit ya.
Hot degrees, antifreeze, chillin' cool cool wit ya.
Cool wit ya, cool wit ya. Chillin' cool cool wit ya. Pants saggin', do my gang bang wit ya.
Don't make me put a lean to a nigga spleen.
Shells to a nigga back lane, did he crack lean?
Stop a dream in his tracks, beam down little boy. Now dream little boy, dream.
Coco in the pot, almond have my body. A$AP Rocky, want it I can get it.
Onion in my pocket like the booty on a midget. Diamond on my Rollie kept a nigga out the prison.
Lookin' at the time, say you been winnin' for a minute.
See my neck all defended, what's the price? See my soul was long gone 'fore I got him.
He was dead before I shot him, it's the reaper, reaper, reaper.
Lookin' like the reaper in your driveway, straight to your livin' room.
Live on the drive by on a summer day, July 4th but be in June.
Block tip, block tip, block tip, block boom.
The sound of the drum that grips the bloods loooove. Block tip, block tip, block tip, block boom.
The sound of the drum scene. I'm a groovy type nigga, rather two-step wit ya.
Pants saggin', rag draggin', rather gang bang wit ya.
Tryna squeeze, dog alley, throw them thang thangs wit ya. Hot degrees, antifreeze, chillin' cool cool wit ya.
Cool wit ya, cool wit ya. Chillin' cool cool wit ya.
Hot degrees, antifreeze, chillin' cool cool wit ya.
Cool wit ya, cool wit ya. Chillin' cool cool wit ya. Pants saggin', do my gang bang wit ya.
Tell me more about in the gutter.
Where it started with the crippin', boy and Keff just know what happened.
Tell me more about it in the gutter.
Where it started with the crippin', then the bloods done got a brat.
I'm just an East Side nigga.
When them niggas sayin' show you what it be like, nigga. Hit 'em up, light 'em up like a street light, nigga.
Follow me, I can show you what these streets like, nigga.
Handlebars of a swing, guns blow like gusty winds. Spin a bend, push his wig back when that revolver spins.
Toe tag him, floss flaggin' like it's all good. Tell niggas tee off like Tiger Woods.
Where you from? We never heard of ya.
Walkin' with them murderers, niggas that'll murder ya. Steal you like a burglar.
See my soul was long gone 'fore I got him. He was dead before I shot him, it's the reaper, reaper, reaper.
Ain't no waste time.
'Cause I'm throwin' this brain, touchin' pain, it's a bad dollar.
Can I show you this world, baby?
Ain't no rules to this life, darlin'