Cory Gunz - Mr. Fresh lyrics

rate me

Verse 1:

1, 2, buckle my shoe

Unlaced ears, lil' mama, what it do (what you mean)

What it do to fit you on those jeans

On your thighs so tight its like your hips can't breathe

Im in the spot with my wrist on freeze

And a couple of thugs with a grip on squeeze

Pair of champs on, I get my limp on

Like I get my pimp on, play you just bench warm

Summertime, my Louis flips on

Before I make u wanna get your tip on

You said lil' Ron names his own

He keeps it fly, I don't know what your mans on

See I less see once we get our Benz on

You step on my Nikes, ice is what your chin's on

I'm in this game just tryin' to get my friends on

And all you blockers get defended

Hook:

Now y'all you tell me is the fitted low? (Yes)

Money low? (No)

Ice Bright? (Bright)

Kicks tight? (Fo' sho)

Game tight? (Fo' sho)

Haters see me? (Yes)

Never none less lil' homie just call me Mr. Fresh

Just call me Mr. Fresh

Just call me Mr. Fresh

Just call me Mr. Fresh

Just call me Mr. Fresh

Verse 2:

They like why you gotta be so fly

Homie I got it from the street, no lie

Between me and you shorty I see bare sheets

It must be in opposite the dead sleep

See me pull up in the red jeep

See me hop out with the red sneaks

See me pull up in the blue Coupe

Rims match the kicks blue boots

See me pull up in some green clean

Probably rockin' a pair of mean greens

But you don't know I get green seems

The US probably in the same dream

Heavy gleam, I make my limousines lean

Ain't no one ons, we known to intervien

But I swear if I looked you in the face

It'll be like I took a picture in your face

Or rather like Tyson hit you in the face

You waitin' to take my shit now this a taste

Hook

Verse 3:

You wanna know what I'm about? paper

The way you put your money let ya mouth make-up

I make ya lil' mama she'll break-up

I'm just a lil' fresh spouse taker

Ya sleepin' on me homie better wake up

Ya girl just spotted me comin' outta Jacob

Her thoughts are probably that I got my cake up

My weights up I aint gotta play tough

Pimpin' that's just how I'm livin'

Chill in spots you wish you could live in

Sippin', spinnin' women linen

We grindin', shinin', grippin', winnin'

Names exchanged, digits are givin'

Slackin' my mack, name slippin' my pimpin'

Gonna splurge like this shit is tradition

Mother herbs got the chips

Hook