Lookout Homeboy Sandman (Ft. Quelle Chris & Your Old Droog)

Boy Sand on the muthafuckin lookout
Beat was so ill that I had to take the hook out
Anytime I lost, recount there was a miscount
Anytime I floss, you could bet I got a discount
Two out every two sleeves I could pull the tricks out
Me I nail the routine also nail the dismount
Drop it in the tip jar I be taking tips out
Homies I don’t give a fuck
Ladies take your tits out
When I’m on the hill there isn’t any pitch count
I don’t give a fuck 'bout anything you bitch bout
Never in the big house, often in a chick blouse
Often get a chick mouth looking like a fish mouth
Afterwards I dick down
Other words I digged out
I could write a list down
Fantasies I lived out
After it done fizzled out
Some of them done flipped out
Shit I get a kick out
Shit that get em kicked out
Not the type of cat to beat a hoochie in the head
I don’t barely move except for coochie or for bread
On it like quicker picker upper on a mess
Back up in this muthafucka like I never left