Chris Webby Just Dance Lyrics

Yo!
Chris Webby,
Who else you know is about to go rap over some Lady
Gaga?
Yo for real.
I go hard.

Just dance, dance, hold it down
Didn’t think I’m ill? Well you know it now
What’ll come around goes around,
That’s why I hit ‘em with the dopest sound
Flowin’ now got a dub to twist
And not even Ron Jeremy can f*ck with this
Cause I’m f*ckin’ sick so who’s touchin’ Chris?
Treat a chick like an Oreo and double dip
Because I’m white as a glass of milk
And I’mma rap until the sun comes up,
Massive skill
Yeah I got so, I don’t gotta brag I’m ill
But I still do when I’m drunk on a bag of pills
Cause I rap shit hotley,
Everybody watch me
Cause I love attention and nobody can stop me
Go against me and I’m like John Gotti
Then you will get taken care of like Tamogotchi’s
So sick that they think I’m a zombie,
Gee whiz Gaudi
I’m so godly, rollin’ with my homeboy Abi
So you know I’mma do what I gotta do hard body
I’m the shit need a potty probably
Do it all in front of your eyes like hibachi
Roll the dice like Yahtzee, got more balls than Botchi
I’m rollin’ out top speed, and I’m callin’ out shotty!
No blitz, bitch no this, I’m so sick if you didn’t notice!
You don’t know what I been through did you
But I still keep it cooler than an igloo
And I don’t gotta be a big dude,
I’m still a Pitbull and you’re a Shih Tzu
So strong I could lift you, pick you up and drop you
Don’t even need to hit you
Grapple rappers, put ‘em on the ground
Pin ‘em real quick no need for a second round
I was a yellow belt at 6 holdin’ it down,
Now takin’ over town by town
Wow. Let me just smash the set
And find me a little bachelorette
And I’mma bring her back to the sac and sex
Well see how the action gets,
Then round two if she pasts the test
Spit with a cleverly skilled mixture,
Big as the Beverly hills ninja (hiya!)
Rollin’ up the windows,
Light the L
Puff puff pass till we getting high as hell
Kill ’em with the wordplay nice as well,
Will I get signed soon? only time will tell,
But I’m kickin’ it for now and I love that
Postin’ up at the crib like a rugrat,
Now where the dutch at,
f*ck that.

I’m ill, Chris Webby bitch.
You better remember that damn name.
Shit. And I’m out!