G Lollipops (Explicit)-Murs/Fashawn/Prof

Gangsta ass lollipops Your B***h got a sweet tooth I make art, y'all niggas make hits I make music from the heart and what you make is shit Softer than the couch, step up, get knocked out Poppin' bottles in the club, I'm just chillin' at the house Playin' war games with 4 dames in your name Don't get high, stay fly and inside your lane Tame as a derriere but it gets scarier When you try to test the best in your area Aerial attacks and burials and wax Like an Annabelle tale, but scarier in fact Where the rappers at? Where the rappers at? They told me real rap is dead, I had to laugh at that How is it dead if Wu-Tang's Forever? Better than the worst but Murs is still better The Leroy and Bruce, I deployed the troops The devil is a liar but these boys the truth [Chorus: Murs] Gangsta ass lollipops Your B***h got a sweet tooth [Verse 2: Fashawn] Okay I gave her a cavity, you hate that it had to be Regal Rhymesayer, Mister Laver, your majesty Lettin' my nuts hang like Tiffany had his weave While y'all toss salad, anything for a salary You call it a triumph, I call it a tragedy Casually I turn competition to casualties Converse with my rollo, I call him Murcielago One thing I'm certain if it hurtin' 'em I know I'm an introvert, a street kid, was never into Vert I'd rather pen a verse, some call it audacity Where did he get the nerve, usin' no blackberry Nigga, you gettin' curved by labels and hoes Layaway on your clothes, another day I suppose You portrayin' a rose, I would say you a troll And it's takin' his toll by the way human go I can't give a F-U-C-K what he sold It's Fash [Chorus: Fashawn] Gangsta ass lollipops Your B***h got a sweet tooth [Verse 3: Prof] I'm in the 4-door Ford escort With 4 escorts with high test scores Indoor dro grown next door In class with them hickey neck sores That's too much sauce, that's too much sauce Had to turn to Pookie, Baby, that's too much sauce As far as I'm concerned, I don't f**k with the list price Rappers these days ain't been in a fist fight You never know homie, I could be a fraud This atheist chick I'm f**kin', she treat me like a god I'm poppin' pills in the VIP all day I'm an industry plant, I'm just playin' the long game Bitch never wrote a rhyme in my life And after the club, I'm gonna break your wife's hymen tonight Shout a couple dudes for a career in rap Turn up, turn up, fleek, fleek, bruh how real was that? Pookie [Chorus: Murs] Gangsta ass lollipops Your B***h got a sweet tooth