Correction Lyrics Mr. Do The Dash by BabyTron

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Lyrics

Reach for a chain? Boy, your a** made a hu—, alright
What up, BlueStrip? (Ooh, it's BlueStrip, baby)
Phew, yeah

Reach for a chain? Boy, your a** made a huge mistake
Mr. Do The Dash in the coupe, no, I don't use the brakes
Why the f**k you got a vest on? We came to shoot your face
Star player, came a long way from when I hooped on crates (Hey)
You still working two to eight
I still hit the set everyday and run through some pape'
Smelling like a pound of Za' in the newest Bape
I cannot put you on the play, all you do is flake
I cannot put you on thе team, your stats looking rough
I cannot show you how to whip, but uncy cook it up
Two Glocks tucked, buying ice, lil' b*t*h, I'm good in Hutch
Been thе plug this whole time, I had to go and hook it up
First cla** flight straight to Heaven, Glocky took him up
Every dub, I gotta take a dime and go and put it up
You be scared where I be, 'cause you ain't hood enough
They ain't never catch my hitman 'cause his hood was up (Brrt)
B*t*h, I refuse to be outperformed
In a droptop, heard you stuck in the house with chores
She ain't throwing neck? Jazzy Jeff, throw her out the door
Exotic vernors, pint of yeah 'round, think I'm 'bout to pour
(A few minutes later) think I'm 'bout to snore
Grown man stash, I can pull a hundred out my drawer
Road runner, up sh*t whether I go South or North
High as hell eating chili cheese fries without a fork (Sh*t)
Spill my double cup and leave the floor sticky
Stone Island pants on my legs, these ain't no D**kies
B*t*h sent her CashApp, this lil' ho so silly
Set the play up for lil' bro, that's the coach in me
Fully switch on this b*t*h, boy, this ain't no semi
Trackhawks and Hellcats around, these ain't no Hemis
Made it off the harder way, but I don't know Penny
Bankroll cotton candy, you ain't gon' see no twenties
What I'm drinking muddy, I ain't sipping on no Casamigos (Who at the door?)
F**ked around, I almost shot the peephole
Thinking that you Southwest T, but you ain't got a kilo
Throw that b*t*h all the way down, call me Tron Marino
B*t*h, I'm forever fresh, yeah, I got the juice
Hand cake to the cashier, I'm just copping shoes
You got some nerve in that coat, boy, that is not a Goose
Where the f**k 12 Mile Kyle? Boy, we gotta shoot
I need a six or a four, I can't drop a deuce
Down in TX, I'm off a eight, feeling chopped and screwed
Dawg broke-a** cracked a joke but I am not amused
Sleeve Nash, I'll close my eyes while I lob the 'oop
Man, put that motherf**king gun down, 'cause we both know you not 'bout to shoot
European sneaks on my feet, can't pronounce the shoes
Men in Black type sh*t, shootin', hoppin' out the coupe (Phew)
Thousand shots to his crib, now his house a roof
Can't say exactly, but it's big sh*t I'm 'bout to do
Last dude I punched, two weeks 'til they found his tooth
Why you talking big money sh*t? You never counted blues
F**k (F**k), damn, sh*t (Damn, sh*t), two hundred on the dash
Sh*t changed, got up off my a**, I'm running to the bag
Try some bullsh*t? Gang and 'nem gon' up a couple MAGs
Backwood, puff, puff, puff, b*t*h, f**k a pa**
Somewhere tucked on the West with a quarter ticket on me
Flying trough the hood, hit the Coney with the pistol on me
Sh*t, I can't smell what you cooking, you a big jabroni
We gon' put you six feet deep, up a fist up on me (Brrr)
Somewhere sinning with a pair of Christians on me (Brrr)
B*t*h do a trick, she done turned to a gymnast on me (Brrr)
No rap cap, I got some sh*t up on me (Brr-brr)
No rap cap, a thousand shots you tried get up on me
Engine purring, skrrting 'round, flowing in the Jag' truck
Thank God I'm up, all them times I had some bad luck
Spent your life savings on these damn buffs
Scam God, I won't stop 'til I'm in some hand cuffs

Phew, hey
Sh*ttyBoyz, Dog Sh*t Militia
You know what the f**k going on
Hey, hey
(Oh, it's BlueStrip, baby)

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