Drop Drop Joe Budden
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Drop Drop" by Joe Budden. Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
[Introduction]
Uh huh, yeah, uh huh, yeah, oh no louder, oh no louder, uh huh, uh huh
[Hook]
Drop, drop, my homies that ride chromies let it pop, pop at the bar
Buying them bottles, and them shots, shots, my ladies, its all gravy
If you're hot, hot, then come back to the spot, spot, and maybe we can
Bone, bone, know that we're chilling, something shaking in her thong, thong
Gangster, gangster, paper, paper, long, long, and for my niggers' all over
Now you know we want to hit it, hit it, don't stop, stop, get it, get it
[Verse One]
Sick wit it, I keep paper around me
So I know that everybody got the vapors around me
See me in a big truck, thin rubber, riding two way, and a broad
And, got ten others squatting because I know Cal broads act up, man
So your man, man, got to keep a back up plan, not a dance floor, nigga
I take them home, get them to drop they pants, and gross, nigga
Until the drip, drip, no you're not my wife, no you can't handle my kid, kid
I'm just trying to put in your rib, rib through Cheetah
We're in the four door Beemer, not like the two door
Like the kid only got a few divas', drive wit my knees, seat reclined
While she leaned over giving me a piece of her mind, I be sizing them up
From their thighs and above, holler at me if you want to come
And, ride wit a thug, yeah
Uh huh, yeah, uh huh, yeah, oh no louder, oh no louder, uh huh, uh huh
[Hook]
Drop, drop, my homies that ride chromies let it pop, pop at the bar
Buying them bottles, and them shots, shots, my ladies, its all gravy
If you're hot, hot, then come back to the spot, spot, and maybe we can
Bone, bone, know that we're chilling, something shaking in her thong, thong
Gangster, gangster, paper, paper, long, long, and for my niggers' all over
Now you know we want to hit it, hit it, don't stop, stop, get it, get it
[Verse One]
Sick wit it, I keep paper around me
So I know that everybody got the vapors around me
See me in a big truck, thin rubber, riding two way, and a broad
And, got ten others squatting because I know Cal broads act up, man
So your man, man, got to keep a back up plan, not a dance floor, nigga
I take them home, get them to drop they pants, and gross, nigga
Until the drip, drip, no you're not my wife, no you can't handle my kid, kid
I'm just trying to put in your rib, rib through Cheetah
We're in the four door Beemer, not like the two door
Like the kid only got a few divas', drive wit my knees, seat reclined
While she leaned over giving me a piece of her mind, I be sizing them up
From their thighs and above, holler at me if you want to come
And, ride wit a thug, yeah
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