Yung Joc Dont Play Wit it Lyrics

(feat. Big Gee)

[Yung Joc]
What it is man (sup?)
Yung Joc, Block Entertainment
Yeah, you wan' know somethin? (What'chu wanna know n____?)
I'ma take this m_________in time to let y'all n____z know
I'm tired of playin games.. I'm tired of playin wit'chu man
(Preach on) Y'all n____z comin up short on your money
Your re-up s___ ain't right (nope, nope)
Your grams off n____, get that s___ right
(Tell 'em shawty) Let me talk to y'all

This ain't make believe so why the f___ is you playin
You better listen close to what the f___ I'm sayin
Cause really all it takes is a couple grand
Like AT&T I reach out and I touch a man
Or I can let it go cause it ain't nuttin man
But naw it's the principle so f___ what you sayin
E'ry dollar I want it, e'ry dime I need that
So when it's time to break bread gimme no feedback (shhh)
Cause you don't want to p___ me off
And I get to poppin like we poppin Cristal
See I cain't help it, that's just how we get down
Let off a couple rounds, turn your smile to a frown
Yeahhh I know, you think I'm bluffin
'Til I kick the do' and the goons they rush in
Lay down on the flo' where you keep the c__e in
You say "I don't know" then your blood start gushin

[Chorus 2X: Yung Joc]
I done told your a__ once (once) told your a__ twice (twice)
f___in with my paper, you're f___in wit'cha life (wit'cha life)
Don't play with it (blam) don't play with it (blam)
Don't play with it (blam) n____ don't play with it (blam)

[Big Gee]
Here he come once again Mr. Murder Man
Smokin on the purple bad, pistol in my other hand
f___in with my rubberbands get your a__ murdered fast
Chop you up and chop ya, then stuff ya in a duffel bag
Ride wit'cha in the trunk 'til ya smellin bad
Get your daughter after class, ride by s_____ her a__
I know a p____ n____ owe me a couple stack
Pop him like he never had, but the n____ holdin back (nah)
I ain't trippin now I'm lettin 'em pass, got that a__
So I'm in the good, n____ smokin like a thermostat
Flashin hella stacks, pie n____ Pontiac
Actin for these hoes with my money, what kinda s___ is that?
I ain't feelin that, pay me for my f___in pack
E'ry dime off e'ry zone, don't gimme that (nah)
See it time for the chrome, go on pull it out
Sad Sunday service for the sucker in the parking lot

[Chorus]

[Yung Joc]
Better know the repercussions f___in with my dividends
Yeah I got a hitman for the hitmen
Leave your baby momma numb and I touch many fans
If ye ain't tryin to see it I suggest you start prayin
All I'm sayin; don't try to play me like I'm soft
Treat you like mosquitoes when I skeet you with that Off
That Joc crawl blood, n____ call me Red Cross
Leave your wig leakin like you spilled spaghetti sauce

[repeat 2X]
f___in with my paper - ye ain't right
I'ma send them gators - in the middle of the night
Let 'em split your tater - in front your wife
No one can save ya - put out your lights

[Chorus]

[voice speaking over Chorus to end]
C'mon man
That ain't how you do the s___ bruh
Out'chea playin with a n____ money and s___
That ain't the s___ to be f___in with
It's hard out'chea in these streets n____
f___in people f___in wit'cha
n____z rattin and s___
That ain't what's up dawg
It's the big dawg Diesel
Yung Joc in the building, ya heard me?