Young Dro - What It Is
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YOUNG DRO


What It Is Lyrics

Young Dro, Young Dro

(Girl:) Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a Jazze Phizzle production Young Drooo

(Chorus: x2)
Ah you a killa? What it is
Hell Yeah, What it is
Drug dealer, what it is
Young playa, ridin tall
I just wanna sit up in the air
Get high, I just wanna be up in the air

(Verse:)
I'm in the air (come down)
Ain't comin down (why?)
Up here dammit (where?)
Ain't comin down (please)
Bubbilish car, 26's in the town
I'm a killa too,
Killin bitches in the town
Chevy with the beat down
Make you spin around
I could fishtail
On Fishscale
Ask the niggas over there
If i'm the shit there (he the shit!)
I don't tolerate
My Impala great
Bring the choppa out
Bet I discombobulate
I'm a tough nigga
You a f**k-nigga
See me in the club all Prada'd up nigga
I got a semi too
My hoe jimmy choo
I got diamonds, orange like Winnie Pooh
Get the Talapia
And caviar for dinner too
Mafia as a mother f**ka
Don't make me have to get at you
I throw a hundered shots (nigga)
Plus fifty two - "Dro!"
(Chorus x2)

(Verse 2:)
My car actually
Willy Wonka factory
Ice look like rasberry


These hoes be tryin to tackle me
Nigga I'm a killa i suggest you don't come after me
Bitch I'll be in Collipark
Plus I'll be on Mcafee
Bankhead faculty
Boy you need to rap with me
Come and talk to me
Before I open up your cavity
Shots come rapidly
I told you not to blast at me me
I don't play with lil boys
You tryin to Michael Jackson me?
Know a nigga ridin in the air fantastically Til the day they kill us I'll never put my rims up
Actually, car flop purple when the sun come
When it get dark
for that thang we let the drum-plum

(Chorus x2)

(Verse 3:)
Mink coat
Shit polar bear
Hoes over here
Hoes over there
I'm about to take flight
I'm goin in the air
Candy with the gloss
I'm about to lift off
Case you see somethin you don't like
Then lick it off (lick)
We don't need to look at the time
We rip em off
My wrist 40
But guess how much Tip costs?
Bout $100K, i don't wanna play
Young Dro riding tall on a summer day
Sellin dope, it be junkies where my momma stay
Bad hoes get treated like runaways
Bitch you need to go home cool out and smoke a blunt today
Go and say it ho my cutlass look like egg yolk
I keep a tool with me all in the bed though
My money fed though
It's Grand Hustle bread boy
We just 28 inches in the air
What you scared for?

(Chorus x2)

Songwriter(s): Phalon Alexander, Djuan Hart
Copyright: Warner-tamerlane Publishing Corp., Noontime Tunes, Taylor My Hart Publishing, Bubba Gee Music, WB Music Corp.
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