Gucci Mane - Pancakes (feat. Waka Flocka and 8ball) lyrics

Yeah, it's Gucci! Birds, go! Birds, it's Dirty, Birds It's Gucci I'm an East Atlanta rider You gon' f** around and get ya whole clique tied up My brain fried; I'm on the skull of the Impala I'm high on kush, it's 'bout my money mixed with power So keep it brief n***a, two hundred thousand in the fleece Pistols, two hundred twenty on the dash System, I pull off it look like a flash Picture, cheeeeeese! I got the 24's, those 74 for 2's When you was on the stage, Gucci was on the news But b**h don't pity me, I look like Mr. T I pimp like Soulja Slim, but I think I'm Eazy-E It's Gucci [Chorus] Patty cake, patty cake, I hop around with pancakes I touched down with hash browns and serve 'em with the pancakes Patty cake, patty cake, I hop around with pancakes Got flapjacks, hash browns and syrup in my crack space Patty cake, patty cake, I hop around with pancakes I touched down with hash browns and serve 'em with the pancakes Patty cake, patty cake, I serve you n***as pancakes Flapjacks, hash browns and syrup in my crack space It's Gucci I'm the young n***a all the old head love dawg (FLOCKA!) I ain't lettin sh** slide, this ain't baseball (BRICK SQUAAAD!) Banned in 45 states cause I'm too real Waka Flocka like a Gucci album, I'm hard to k** I don't think they f**in with me whether I'm locked dead or in jail I'm from Clayon County, Riverdale so I'm supposed to give 'em hell I'm aware the gra** got snakes, I'm aware they gon' hate You too late, I'll be damned you take this dinner off our plate Dirty Birds, Dirty Birds, twenty-one gun salute and got k**ed It's Bankhead Brick Squad out in U.K., these n***as ain't f**in with me Mob up off that run day, SK's, AK's Throwaways I let that triple up like ? triple beam we crackin [Chorus] Gucci Mane, Waka Flocka and ya boy big Ball Hard from the start; I ain't never been no f**in lame Here I go with Waka Flocka, here I go with Gucci Mane One of a kind - that Memphis 10 runnin through my bloodstream Ghetto superstar - man them hood b**hes love me Cup full of that ol' purple drank, pullin on some of that stanky dank Pocket full of Benny Frank and b**h, what the f** you thank? 45 hollowheads in my stout, yellow purt ? I hope one of these ol' b**h b**h-a** n***as don't cross that line and get hurt Money what we came to get, money what we represent You ain't talkin 'bout sh** if you ain't talkin 'bout gettin it Hard hustle never fold, forever I will be cold Forever I will be big Ball, mouth full of gold [Chorus]