CAM'RON & DJ DRAMA - La Bomba lyrics
rate me<i>[Verse 1: Cam'ron]</i>
My paper, yes, my paper
Got me sittin' on five acres, "Hi Haters"
Fly gators, coke cooker, pie baker
Drop-driver, girl-getter, dice-shaker
Try play us, your whole crew will be price payers
Knife-waver, gat-toter, life-taker
Nice flavor, real fruity like Clyde Davis
Sweat suit, fly Asics, (coke test) I ace it
I been rich, since 20, bitch
Gun right by the cash (what's that?) the money clip
This Gucci kicker got your girl in nuddy pictures
Sue me nigga, told me she want me to make her booty bigger
I'm the reason, true, but the reason she breezin' through (Why)
She ain't smart, she want a part in Killa Season 2
Get her a audition, get 'em in a mortition
She 'bout to dead 'em, y'all couldn't see the boy vision
<i>[Chorus: Cam'ron]</i>
Come to our party
They drinkin' that more Bacardi, the music is hard body
They puffin' that Bob Marley, that ganja
The aunts and the mommas even ready for drama like
(La la la bomba")
<i>[Verse 2: Cam'ron]</i>
Like fry chicken, they wingin' ock, me, I bring in gwop
I ain't sell enough records to have the things I got
First bring a drop, bring a store, bring a yacht
Bring the crib, bring the horse, chain cold, rings are hot
Let me stop, these niggaz like to sing a lot
Shot him in his hand, like his girl, finger-pop
Ain't no trouble askin', I'm in the bubble flashin'
Walther P.P.K .380, double-action
Played the restaurant, in the Yves Saint Laurent
Patent leather, black and decker, did your girl, played yo' aunt
Like a .45, I popped and dump her
Hung up, she called me back, tried to block her number
She could not get dumber, in the winter, blocks are summer
Your son my little man, yo' pops my runner
He washed the whip, said "Y'all alliance is gone"
Then he pulled out a wrench and turned the hydrant on
<i>[Chorus: Cam'ron]</i>
Come to our party
They drinkin' that more Bacardi, the music is hard body
They puffin' that Bob Marley, that ganja
The aunts and the mommas even ready for drama like
(La la la bomba")
Aye carumba (la la la bomba)
Niggaz pull out they Llamas like (la la la bomba)
Like (la la la bomba) like (la la la bomba)
Like (la la la bomba) like (la la la bomba)
<i>[Verse 3: Vado]</i>
Uh, I'm so cool, plus speak fly
You don't even hear the vroom when I breeze by
I see why, SLR, me and G-Y (slime)
Can't stop, hit the horn at least three times
They like who that (who that) nigga we that (we that)
40th to 4-deuce, Lennox where we be at
Here, take this raw too, finish then you re that
Banana clips sweep, six feet where you sleep at
Nigga believe that, that short change, leave that
You don't need a G-pack, the whole thing, we keep that
So what's goodie, black suede and hoody
No chain, I seen more bang bangs than boogie (Haa)
Yeah, I straight aim it fully
And techs don't wanna talk cause my main man's the bully
Yeah this kid is the truth
I said "Killa, fuck the cars, just gimme the booth"
<i>[Chorus: Cam'ron]</i>
Come to our party
They drinkin' that more Bacardi, the music is hard body
They puffin' that Bob Marley, that ganja
The aunts and the mommas even ready for drama like
(La la la bomba")
Aye carumba (la la la bomba)
Niggaz pull out they Llamas like (la la la bomba)
Like (la la la bomba) like (la la la bomba)
Like (la la la bomba) like (la la la bomba)
