"Juiceman" lyrics
TM88 & OJ da Juiceman Lyrics
(Trap-A-Holics)
Stupid fruity flavor (Stupid), got me with a stable (Woo)
Of big-booty bitches (Bitches), Purple Label tailor (Woo)
Used to rock gators (Damn), now I rock blazers (Yes, sir)
Used to cop traphouses, now I'm coppin' acres (Damn, son, where'd you find this?)
Ayy, hold on, Trap, hold on, Trap
Bring that motherfucker back
Trap-A-Holics is in the building
You talkin' to King Trap right here (Zaytoven)
The nigga, the number one, uno, nigga (Well, damn)
Really do this shit, stupid fruity shit
Candy-coated cars, Fruity Pebble wrist
Now and Later chains, got your main dame
Everybody wanna "ayy" like the Juiceman
Ayy, ayy, ayy, okay
Ayy, ayy, ayy, well, damn
Ayy, ayy, ayy, skrrt
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy (Trap-A-Holics, bitch, Hoodrich)
Stupid fruity flavor (Stupid), got me with a stable (Woo)
Of big-booty bitches (Bitches), Purple Label tailor (Woo)
Used to rock gators (Damn), now I rock blazers (Yes, sir)
Used to cop traphouses, now I'm coppin' acres (Land)
They leakin' all my flavor (Woo), but they don't wanna praise him (Nope)
Is that Coweta County? (Huh?), boy, I'll see you later (Pyoom)
Hit me with the maneuver (Bitch), hit me with a taser (Pussy)
Now I'm out on bond, a hundred thousand dollars later (Ayy)
Really do this shit, stupid fruity shit
Candy-coated cars, Fruity Pebble wrist
Now and Later chains, got your main dame
Everybody wanna "ayy" like the Juiceman
Ayy, ayy, ayy, okay
Ayy, ayy, ayy, well, damn
Ayy, ayy, ayy, skrrt
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
They tryna question 'bout some bricks, I don't know shit (Nope)
I'm in the booth tryna drop a million-dollar hit (Yes, sir)
I know the business language, now my etiquette legit (Woo)
I been droppin' sixty-twos since '96 (Skrrt)
What you know 'bout raids? (Woo), what you know 'bout coppers? (Woo)
What you know about T.I., undercover imposters? (Pussy)
What you know 'bout runnin' so long, legs turn to pasta? (Woo)
What you know 'bout gettin' shot eight times, they still can't stop you?
Really do this shit, stupid fruity shit
Candy-coated cars, Fruity Pebble wrist
Now and Later chains, got your main dame
Everybody wanna "ayy" like the Juiceman
Ayy, ayy, ayy, okay
Ayy, ayy, ayy, well, damn
Ayy, ayy, ayy, skrrt
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
I present to you
F.I.L.A 25
Crash Dummy Records
Pretty Boy motherfuckin' Tank
Real Atlanta shit, nigga
Stupid fruity flavor (Stupid), got me with a stable (Woo)
Of big-booty bitches (Bitches), Purple Label tailor (Woo)
Used to rock gators (Damn), now I rock blazers (Yes, sir)
Used to cop traphouses, now I'm coppin' acres (Damn, son, where'd you find this?)
Ayy, hold on, Trap, hold on, Trap
Bring that motherfucker back
Trap-A-Holics is in the building
You talkin' to King Trap right here (Zaytoven)
The nigga, the number one, uno, nigga (Well, damn)
Really do this shit, stupid fruity shit
Candy-coated cars, Fruity Pebble wrist
Now and Later chains, got your main dame
Everybody wanna "ayy" like the Juiceman
Ayy, ayy, ayy, okay
Ayy, ayy, ayy, well, damn
Ayy, ayy, ayy, skrrt
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy (Trap-A-Holics, bitch, Hoodrich)
Stupid fruity flavor (Stupid), got me with a stable (Woo)
Of big-booty bitches (Bitches), Purple Label tailor (Woo)
Used to rock gators (Damn), now I rock blazers (Yes, sir)
Used to cop traphouses, now I'm coppin' acres (Land)
They leakin' all my flavor (Woo), but they don't wanna praise him (Nope)
Is that Coweta County? (Huh?), boy, I'll see you later (Pyoom)
Hit me with the maneuver (Bitch), hit me with a taser (Pussy)
Now I'm out on bond, a hundred thousand dollars later (Ayy)
Really do this shit, stupid fruity shit
Candy-coated cars, Fruity Pebble wrist
Now and Later chains, got your main dame
Everybody wanna "ayy" like the Juiceman
Ayy, ayy, ayy, okay
Ayy, ayy, ayy, well, damn
Ayy, ayy, ayy, skrrt
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
They tryna question 'bout some bricks, I don't know shit (Nope)
I'm in the booth tryna drop a million-dollar hit (Yes, sir)
I know the business language, now my etiquette legit (Woo)
I been droppin' sixty-twos since '96 (Skrrt)
What you know 'bout raids? (Woo), what you know 'bout coppers? (Woo)
What you know about T.I., undercover imposters? (Pussy)
What you know 'bout runnin' so long, legs turn to pasta? (Woo)
What you know 'bout gettin' shot eight times, they still can't stop you?
Really do this shit, stupid fruity shit
Candy-coated cars, Fruity Pebble wrist
Now and Later chains, got your main dame
Everybody wanna "ayy" like the Juiceman
Ayy, ayy, ayy, okay
Ayy, ayy, ayy, well, damn
Ayy, ayy, ayy, skrrt
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
I present to you
F.I.L.A 25
Crash Dummy Records
Pretty Boy motherfuckin' Tank
Real Atlanta shit, nigga
