BIG K.R.I.T. - Gumpshun lyrics

rate me

They know just who we are

Roll in fo' deep cars

Polo down, country bound

Tight like Mason jars

My grandma used to say

Boy you got, boy you got, boy you got gumption

Boy you got, boy you got, boy you got gumption

Boy you got, boy you got, boy you got gumption

Boy you got, boy you got, boy you got gumption

First off, I'm the country of the countriest

Mississippi bitch, what you know about this country

Shit?

Hold on, prolong, I'm knowing what you thanking

Naw, it ain't the chitterlings that got this shit here

Stanking

Jumping, bumping through the speakers, sub booming

Shawty, I've been stroking is what I've been doing

Everybody got something to say about how we get down

When we get round, cause it's thirty-eights on the

Crown Vic

So I use a ladder to get down with

Ay, thick and for the picking's what I'm fine with

Her face ahh! Ass astounding

She micro-braided, I pull it and pound it

That malt liquor keep a nigga grounded

On the porch with my kinfolk lounging

Up underneath the stars

They talk about my state, but they know just who we are

Psychedelic, excelling on Daytons and Vogues

Majestic, I'm killing these hoes

Sprinkle game of the greenest, the meanest of flows

Planting seeds in your mentals and leave it to grow

Eager to know, how to get money and bring it to daddy

Evenly so, buy me some gators and pull up the Caddy

Open my do', jump from my car, round and clean up my

Palace

Throw on my robe, run my bath water and fill up my

Chalice

Sit on my balance beam until her belly cream

If that pussy needs ramming, I'm battering

Player way, tailor made, always in a gator state

'92 Bulls on a fool, that's how players play

For the win like M.J. straight away

Shook 'em off, no time left, fuck it, fade away

Buzzer, it's all over with

Champagne with lobster and shrimp, pimp

Ay, ay player play on, I roller-skate on

I was taught to give 'em something just to hate on

Like a Ford engine light, I just stay on

Or, to find a yellow belly I can take home

Or, lay on cause it ain't nothing but a skill to

You either get her done barbecue or meal dude

Let the super-fly inside you steer you

Because being lame's a disease, it can kill you

So let me put you on these hoes

Chevy that be heavy and the wall that be Vogue

Peanut butter guts with the grape jelly glow

Chromed-out bumper with the Cobain do's

That's suicide shit if ain't know that

Need a lil' pimping? Baby girl, let me pour that

Sow that up with some dough on it

I was born with the gift of gab, so motherfucker throw

A bow on it