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Hit The J Lyrics

from California Republic

"Hit The J" is track #4 on the album California Republic. It was written by Taylor, Jayceon Terrell.
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"Hit The J" is track #4 on the album California Republic. It was written by Taylor, Jayceon Terrell.
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That Mary Jane
That OG kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blaine
And she ain't tryna to book a flight on that paper plane
She don't wanna hit the J
She don't wanna hit the J
She don't wanna hit the J
She don't wanna hit the J

Throw on that undefeated tank, and throw on my chain
Throw on that new Kid Red, bitch, its money gang
See that red Maserati, niggas know it's Game
Drive that bitch down Rosecrans and blow the brains
Got that Rolly on my wrist, man that ho insane
Remind me of my chick Regatta, she out in Spain
Got a squad full chicks, I ain't dropping names
They all ball like the girl that play for Notre Dame
What's her name? Skylar Diggins yeah that's right, that's right
You know I'll be digging, I'll be eating out that kitten
I'll be piggin' out
Never take her out to crustaceans, it be In-N-Out
Just like that Chocolate shake, nigga goin' in her mouth
She do everything except smoke, that mean let a nigger poke
That mean she be off the coke like Paris and her folks
Swear to God she a poke man
But she like Lindsay Lohan, except she be running from that dope man

That Harry Potter, that Mary Jane
That OG kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blaine
And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane
'Cause she don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit it)
Now she don't wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)

All these bitches in my face, I'm blowing up
And when I'm stepping in the place, we be pouring up
Fourteen bottles of Ace, models showing up
I tell her homie break that down, and we gon' roll it up
It's Friday and she ain't got shit to do
And we ain't got shit to do
So umm, what's good with you?
Smoke a little, talk a little, roll that up
Girl twist that J, remind me of my nigga Rondo
She ain't trying to hit that J
Different J's, different lokes
Different days, different strokes
I smoke that shit that made Arnold and Willis broke
You know my lifestyle, swishers and them Lifestyles
Bitches in the white house, red Camaro piped out
I'll be iced out, my blunts be packed in
I'll smoke them till it's no more, I'm like the pack ten
I'm 'bout to pack ten bitches with them accents
Man we 'bout to pack twelve swishers in that black Benz

That Harry Potter, that Mary Jane
That OG kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blaine
And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane
'Cause she don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit it)
Now she don't wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)

Two puffs, two verses. That's all you get Nigga!
And stop mean mugging motherfucker!

Songwriters
Taylor, Jayceon Terrell

Published by
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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