lirik lagu mookie jones - grindmode
[verse 1: mookie jones]
size 12, just to k!ll the roaches
misses know my guys well, pluto never on no ho sh-t
autoooo fly as h-ll, shaking hands with the owners
all the numbers in my cell, i’m probably f-cking your b-tch
notice boar it in half the gl-ss get warm
i got plugs with osama, al-queda ain’t got the best bomb
check it i could do this sh-t with my left arm always armed
to a charm so a players chest wrapped in teflon singing
[hook]
i’m in grindmode a player stay working hard
you know how fast time goes when you keep it on your job
respect my mind though we making moves like the mob
mackin’ fine hoes maxing credit cards
(repeat)
[verse 2: sl jones]
don’t fill my cup too high, give that bombay room to breathe
graduated from the streets, always put trap yay by degrees
i be working on my masters, read a l!ck just like a chapter
i was raised by cadillacers, and chevrolets the league
of extraordinary players, i was drafted at an early age
fully loaded candy coated sitting on them twirly thangs
gorgeous babe scratching n-ggas, baby face attractive k!llers
crawling like a caterpillar, sw-ngin’ swervin’ turn up turn up
the block dry no chap stick, skinny jeans but them racks fit
country boy no accent, skinny b-tch on my fat eghh
she like it i love it, she fit right in my budget
i call it public aggression when we be fighting in public
i’m her underground king, she my harriet tubman
jonzie shinning on these boys, you would think lightning strucken
known for moving with a gang way cooler with the slang
swag drippin’ everywhere, police couldn’t remove the stains mayne
[hook]
[verse 3: mookie jones]
as i stroll between the states, ’bout to catch a wave
yeah my flow between the lakes, getting blown at a home
eating kobe clean steak, like homes in the zone jones
kobe ring eight, from paper plates to paper plates
mama i told you we’d be straight
roll another eighth, crack another case
open up the safe, i’m ’bout to pack another place
jonzie in your face like acne at a rapid rate
that plastic don’t make you fake, word to the ratchet on my waist
??? sh-t happen word to fate
its that fast life living, we ain’t trying to hit the brakes
drive that murder burger until small fries get the shake
we value meals young artists without a deal
in a war we decide you got to k!ll but
p.a.n.’s don’t die, we just regroup and rebuild
in a field for the trill, them shoes seen and filled
[hook]
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