Free Murder - Shorts And Slippers lyrics

[Chorus: Free Murda] Shorts with the slippers on, white tee, fitted on Shorts with the slippers on, white tee, fitted on Shorts with the slippers on, white tee, fitted on White tee, fitted on, shorts with the slippers on [Free Murda:] Low shorts, slippers on my feet, gold diggers wanna creep Nah, this n***a don't wanna be One head in the Chevy, man, I don't want your teeth Next week I'm vegetarian, I don't wanna 'meat' Cuban on my neck, Jesus is the piece Keep it moving, all that tech'll leave you resting in peace Rest in peace to the homey Jeff Row Mess with Free then that forty will blow n***a already know, that I'm, the same ol' pimp Free, ain't nothing changed but my chips That's me, still getting brain from your chick Not just these dames, cuz these lames on my dick Me, Free Murda, shorts with the slippers on White tee, fitted on, Fort Greene, get it on Me, Free Murda, shorts with the slippers on White tee, fitted on, Fort Greene, get it on [Chorus x2] [Free Murda:] Dark is on my face, sparking up the haze Chalking up the space, once I departed from my waist Hand in my pocket, blonging off your braids Better tuck and roll like Blanca on the game Keep fronting, I'mma bang, lay a hand on this chain That n***a ain't crazy, Gnarls Barkley ain't your name Your know how that purp do, I'm around like a circle Have me higher than the pants, that's on Urkel Plad shorts sagging, down to my slippers Bad who*es bragging, how they unzipped the zipper She want me to whip her, and pull her g-string I love T-Pain, make kid fall in love with a stripper Sip bub in that liquor, until I feel saucey Hand on my forty, damn if it cost me What bail, n***a? Say, f** jail, n***a Ain't doing time, I tell 'em, go to hell, n***a [Chorus x2] [Free Murda:] Look gangsta in my fitted cap, desert in my white tee Take and wont give it back, deaded or you might see Yourself out your slippers, take the soul from your body No help out to get ya, when I unload from that shotty Shorts, slippers, white tee, boss n***a, like me Get it popping in the hood, don't force a n***a like me Cuz he'll let one go, n***a, just to show ya team Ain't Young Dro, but that four'll make my shoulder lean Bagging up dirt, they don't even dig a smell Bagging up purp, you can weigh it on the Ricter Scale Force, let that chicken hail, cuz I let that chicken swell That be money, n***as funny cuz they missing sales My nig, what you grinning for, ain't no f*ggots here Diggin' up in them shorts, pockets all rabbit ears Think you leaving lavish here, like Yung Joc, call that dope boy magic there Dope boy, magic here... [Chorus x2]