Hands In The Air The Movie Lyrics

[Intro: Fes Taylor]
Two 4 War/Divine Films presents Hands in the Air
(Yo, Taylor, what up, my baby? And how ya?)
Just came back from Nebraska and shit
(I ain't seen you in a minute, I been in the studios and shit
You worked out hard and shit, right?) Yea, yea
(I ain't heard you spit nothing in a minute though, kid
Yo, yo, lemme get some new shit, kid, right now
We gotta get some new shit from you) I don't know
(Right now, baby, haha, I know you got some shit for me, man
This ya boy, baby)

[Fes Taylor:]
2 Fly, baby, they love it when I say it
Still thugging when I play it
And f**king with the greatest latest apparrel, my favorite avenues
Weigh it and bag it, see how fast this package move
Piff, blow a sack or two, rap in the booth
Then play the shit loud back in the Coupe
I'm the artist that wouldn't give up, hardest
I went from apartments, to big trucks at real estate auctions
Caution, crossing me, is like abortions
Still in the Porsches, making 'em nauseous
Wrist like a faucet, mix it with frosted
Taylor, say I'm the truth, still different than all them
Them niggz riffing, I call 'em a bunch of bitches
If you see me balling, all my niggaz got lunch dishes
I wouldn't munch delicious, and word to everything
I would've beat hoops if the rumors wasn't still pending

[Interlude: Fes Taylor]
Yo, yo, that shit was crazy, son, you did
That shit was wild, that shit was fire, dude
I really like that shit, b, yo, you be spitting that shit, kid
I like that shit, b (yo, hold up, who the f**k is that over there?
Yo, hold up, one second, just being down for kid, just telling you, nigga
Yo, ha, hold on, hold on, I'm telling these bitches)

[Chorus x2: Fes Taylor]
See, I'm a fly dude, see me ride through
I'm feeling you mami, your hips and your thighs too
How are you? You looking like a candy store girl
I'm just trying to browse through, how that sound to you?

[Fes Taylor:]
Enough about me, let's talk about you
See if you open the door when I walk around too
The other side of the car on some Bronx Tale shit
See, I'm living like Sunny or them Barksdale kids
Pardon if I act like you wearing a wire
I beat the, checking me out, stare at my attire
I'm flier than the birds over telephones wires
Niggaz telling I got birds in from of Judge Myers
Suppliers and buyers, riders, you divide 'em
Multiply with CD's, now they wanna sign 'em
I've seen a lot of little me's, I don't be around 'em
They try to hate on the kid, I don't even clown 'em
The sound of them is like silence to my ears
Most of the bullshit they saying I don't even hear
Crib out in N.C., I ain't even there
Spend my weekends, Miami, laying on the beach, share
While she speech hares, she said "Lemme speak here"
Gotta speak clear, put ya hands in the air

[Outro: Fes Taylor]
Yo, what the f**k? What the f**k?
What the f**k type of shit is this?
(Yo, hold up, you put ya gun down, man)
Nah, f**k that, the f**k you wan' play me like that, man?
Niggaz is bugging, I'm out of here, man
What type of shit is this, b?
This shit? Hell yea, you f**king bitch
The f**k kinda shit is this?
You smoking weed and shit... (yo f**k that bitch)
I don't even wanna believe this shit (yo that bitch a cop) [gunshot]

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Record Label(s): 2015 Chambermusik Special Products

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