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Featuring Charlie Clips (Intro) Fuck around, fuck fuck around Fuck around, fuck fuck around Fuck around, fuck fuck around Fuck around, fuck fuck around (Verse) Fuck around, what these hoes really want from me? Getting paper since junior high, never gave a bitch no lunch money Now I’m grown, on my own Still won’t give a bitch no lunch money You got old bills, I’m with Jae Millz We sittin there countin that young money Sittin there countin that young money Haters, don’t you fuck around Cuz you ain’t yo music, both could be underground Brand your house and paint away, these bullets jump around Throw that silencer on that Shh, don’t make another sound And then I’m back on em Drop off, pop yo lack on em Squeeze hard like Steve Jobs He’ll dive and I’ll put this mack on him Squeeze hard like Steve Jobs Letras de cancionesHe’ll dive and I’ll put this mack on him So nice had to say it twice Rewind and bring it back on em Blue Porsche, red Benz Nice truck, the lad cherish That baby mama’s got more BBM’s than a Blackberry Hah, don’t fuck around when I’m in my zone no Cuz this that Hennessey Rose and Patrone flow (Hook) So don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around (nah nah nah) So don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around You don’t wanna Fuck around, fuck fuck around Nah nigga, you don’t wanna Fuck around, fuck fuck around Cuz we don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around We don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around Nah nigga, we don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around Nigga we don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around (Verse) Don’t fuck around cuz we don’t fuck around and let the macks loose Been killin these lil boys since Kevin jumped in that berriac juice Lil boys, they all lil boys, they might not even know Kevin jumps in these But right now they don’t even need to Just know when you stand I read you Used to walk the streets of Harlem Now call me Sir Brickalot Different cars in my garage So sometimes I’m so switchin up 3 hundred for my true religions You in that all body coupe trippin I pull up right next to you Playin candy girl in a new edition Uh, wutchu know bout that? Chrome go clap, no fresh start Sharp shooter, bitch I think I’m bread hot Don’t know when to quit nigga I think you bread far Then your girl is a star, she get the award for best jobs You don’t, she could get out of hand I’m so hood like the dollar vans Chase yo bitch ass girl in the alley Just like bishop to drive the mands Niggas want respect, ain’t put in a word though But this that sour kush and granddaddy purp flow (Hook) So don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around So don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around You don’t wanna Fuck around, fuck fuck around Nah nigga, you don’t wanna Fuck around, fuck fuck around Cuz we don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around We don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around Nah nigga, we don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around Nigga we don’t Fuck around, fuck fuck around From Letras Mania