Oh Yeah (Work) Lyrics
I hear everyone of you
We do it like the army do
I can go vertical
Let's go, hey, hold up (hold up)
No!!! Blow!!! Oh!!!
C'mon, crank it, c'mon! Eh! Oh!
Got Cartier frames coverin' up my eyes
26 inches inbetween my tires
Nut in my pocket metal ?? three grand
diamonds on my neck and a pistol in my hand
I'ma get my nigga, grind like hell
when I'm short on my G's I'ma crank up the scale
Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah I'ma crank up the scale
Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah I'ma crank up the scale!
I'm never goin' broke no mo'
aslong as my folks keep -guns-? and the blow
They sell it on up and then they bring back mo'
and everybody askin' what I got that work fo'
Got diamonds in my shades, that Cartier frame
You look up at my face
and tell her you a -grain-?, the ho be amazed
they be like OH!
Nigga see it from the boss, see the way it glow
Yeah! Them thangs twinkle in the light right
I don't know, I jus twinkle in the lime light
gotta Chevy same color as a can of Sprite
sippin' on the X.O. got me feelin' right
I've been livin', my whole life pimpin'
you'll never catch me slippin'
f**kin' with ya'll women
Scrap be chillin', I stay on the grind
It's hard life we livin', I stay with my nine
[Sean Paul of Youngbloodz]
I ain't gotta hit these streets no mo' (no mo')
Criss inten-ed-ed fo' a show
Notice I ain't out but four times every week (every week)
during the time four every week get G'ed (get G'ed)
Cartier shade with the gator cut wood (cut wood)
proud of football, damn ya'll niggaz do it (do it)
Whenever we in Atlanta now they callin me and you (you)
everyday I'm hustlin' diamonds up against the wood (wood)
Dope boy fresh dressed in red monkey clothes (clothes)
gotta stay fresh fo' you dead monkey ho (ho)
26 inches sittin' tall like whoa (like whoa)
Get the cameraman I'm a God damn show
Shower cap and all, bitch you already know (know)
f**k around wit dope, and squeeze some money outta ho (ho)
Get my nigga, yeah I grind like hell
rubberband around my money, like a God damn playa (damn playa)
Swapped out grill
they say that hustla that (that) boy worth a few mill
he sittin' at the bar tearin' up hundred dolla bills
that's his car parked in the front door on them big wheels
He ain't never been a punk!
Booga Suga Pusha
f**k a state troopa
I'm livin' fo the moment,I ain't livin' fo the future
Producer bring it to you, bring the noise like a tuba
crack your peanut shell, run up on you with the ruga
Smoke herb like a hippie (hippie)
drank like a pirate (pirate)
wrist real crisp (crisp), haters don't like it (like it)
Jacket full of trays (trays), gotta get my chips (chips)
manipulate your braud, put your chick on Craig List (List)
Traffic I'm in and out (out)
gotta work when it's a drought (drought)
don't take the main street (street)
take the other route (route)
Sucka use your head
you heard what I said
I'm gettin' carpal tunnel while I'm countin' all this bread
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Songwriter(s): Sean Paul Joseph, William Holmes, Earl Stevens, Darryl R. Richardson, Darryl Richardson Ii, Jonathan H. Smith
Publisher(s): Swizole Music, Songs Of Universal Inc., Ben Hill Tiger Music, Drugstore Music Publishing, Emi/Blackwood Music Inc., Lil Jizzel Music Publishing, How U Luv Publishing, H
Record Label(s): 2006 Reprise Records for the U S and WEA International Inc for the world outside the U S
Official lyrics by