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Rinky Dink/Whatever Ho Lyrics

"Rinky Dink/Whatever Ho" was written by Paul Beauregard, Jordan Houston, Patrick Houston.
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"Rinky Dink/Whatever Ho" was written by Paul Beauregard, Jordan Houston, Patrick Houston.
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Yeah, you muthafuckin' hoes
Y'all know the muthafuckin' dead Hypnotize Camp
And Profit Posse in this muthafucka
Get one of these gold plaques on the wall

Before you talk some old muthafuckin' shit
Bitch, it's whatever nigga, we in this muthafucka
For the 9-9, 9's to your head ho
(Mafia, mafia, mafi-ya, ya, mafia, mafia, mafi-ya, ya)

Glock 9's, Tech 9's, any kinda gun bitch
Evergreen gats have got these cowards on the run bitch
Kill 'em like they convicts
Know they hear them guns click

Doped up like a muthafucka
(Cough, cough, snort)
You could catch me in the same hood, on the fuckin' same block
With a pearl Rolex watch and a knot, and a glock
9 o'clock clock nigga like to slang 'cuz I be hustlin' weight
And we gon' put a end to you hoes and you niggaz hatin'

I'ma be every fuckin' piece of skrilla cheese out here I can make
I'ma break every fuckin' bitch, fatalities that I can bring
I'ma millie my pillie but killie, killin' everything that I wanna kill
You weak ass niggaz don't want Lord Infamous
From South Parkway to get ill

Long from the norm, we get dumb with a bomb
With the guns you bitches y'all best get steel
Scarecrow, Club House, yes it gets ill
So, all y'all listen closely don't you ever forget
Y'all wouldn't, y'all never be shit with out us bitch, don't forget

Killin' ain't shit, bitches ain't shit
Niggaz ain't shit, bodies in a ditch
How any niggaz gonna talk dat shit
About da Cruchy fuckin' Black, Thug Posse ya bitch

Niggaz gon' talk, bitches gon' start
Muthafuckaz gonna get they bodies in a trunk
All I want is cash muthafuckaz have
Get down on your knees, gimme all your cash

Whoa, muthafucka watch yourself, just watch your back
'Cause still we chillin' with Pat, straped with them gats
Be ready to attack, all you hatin' ass niggaz
That wanna jump, yo punk what's up
You better come up real with your muthatfuckin' shit
'Cause boy, it's gonna get rough

Situation's gone bad for you niggaz claimin' killaz
Automatic triggaz pullin', drillin' holes inside your liver
How you figure, I was gon' let you talk that shit
And peep these streets sayin', "That ScanMan boy's a bitch"
Know watch them throw lights out in my head

Killin', buckin', buckin' up in gunfire
Bullets rickin' off the walls, nigga this is warfare
Suckaz claimin' they got nuts
You don't know these elephants
Specialize in takin' notes, specialize in nappy hoes

Niggaz this is serious, I can't play no games no more
Niggaz actin' curious but I think they know the score
Bitches know the Hypnotize medallion show what click you claim
Hold it up strong, only those, who stay real, or maintain' in this game

Alot of niggaz talk that shit and end up gettin' the wig split
It's MC Mack, the nigga known for smackin', jackin', Cracker Jacks
Busta ass nigga, run you mouth and get your ass blowed off
Watch me put my ski mask on

Come a gat back now trick now drop it off
Shoot a super soaker in a minute
Don't you give a fuck about another nigga
If he's speakin' use your counter attack

Rollin' like a nigga smack a nigga like a nigga
Smack a bitch, you crump, you ain't no busta
Ain't no love lost off in my heart, there's no place colder
Won't you come a little closer nigga, you won't be rollin' our

Socialists up actin' miss servin' sevens
Have 'em in jail suspended, in the middle
Started rivalries civil, homies swithin', actin' fickle
But if you fuck with family ties, we leave you triple

That nigga there know his gun a missle
Lord don't flash on him, only man ain't chival
Erasin' ample businesses all in the name of the T-Rock
Suckaz eat pot, swallow D, and get punished for three rocks
Bangin' the hit stops, it won't be over, 'til your heat pops
Away from the gravity, stand and point your a tech and see him drop

Yeah, I know, I know, down, down, baby goin' down, down
Sweet dreams baby, rock-a-bye, baby
Niggaz wanna run up, we be flexin' the Tech
And be pointed at ya we comin', and I bitch, I bet ya, I bet ya

You wanna hit 'em but nigga you an't forget 'em, forget 'em
Because you sorry and sorry ain't nothin' but venom
I know bitches out there lovin' me, niggaz got dreams of fuckin' me
Fuckin' me ain't the story gon' fuck you up more than me

It's whatever, whatever ho, whatever, whatever ho
It's whatever, whatever ho, whatever, whatever ho
It's whatever, whatever ho, whatever, whatever ho
It's whatever, whatever ho, whatever, whatever ho
It's whatever, whatever ho, whatever, whatever ho

It's whatever, whatever ho, whatever, whatever ho
It's whatever, whatever ho, whatever, whatever ho
It's whatever, whatever ho, whatever, whatever ho
It's whatever, whatever ho, whatever, whatever ho
It's whatever, whatever ho, whatever

A lot of gunfire, bustin' on you hoes to get my point across
Ridin' in your hood and let the muthafuckin' bullets toss
Tossin' me a berries pack, now I'm tossin' you some dramma
Ridin' with my congregation and we smokin' on marijuana

If you wanna go to war with us, we prepared to bust
Caught that niggaz slippin' at his place, shot him in his face
Now I race, from the scenery, blowin' on greenery
Know I got a temper but you tricks wanna be mean to me

It's the weak, told to tell 'em, Julius Caesar, how he rolls
Newspaper, told to tell 'em, how he just got lnocked of his toes
You should know, that we rollin' deep, hittin' like a train
Kiss the floor, don't be lookin' dumb 'cause I don't explain

I maintain, killaz catchin' drinks, Project cathin' cappers
Shootin' at your muthafuckin' lane, they be catching vapors
Playa Haters, violaters, bullshiters, this for y'all
Boy I keep a big gun, you don't want none

Songwriters
PAUL BEAUREGARD, JORDAN HOUSTON, PATRICK HOUSTON

Published by
Lyrics © BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC

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