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Babyface Ray - Tap In Lyrics



Babyface Ray - Tap In Lyrics
Official




(Thank you Fizzle)

When I touchdown you better tap in (yeah)
Look, I been stackin' up them backends (stackin' 'em up), yeah
I wanna cut, girl, f*ck a lap dance (I don't need no lap dance, nigga, I wanna f*ck some')
We in the field, I ain't got rap friends (for real)
I'm only here to speak the facts, yeah

Got it out the mud, ask my neighbors, he'll tell you (yeah)
You gon' be a star, teachers thought I was a failure (what?)
Valet park the foreign, how I'm livin' got 'em jealous (they mad)
I can't trust these niggas, bring it to me, let me scale it (yup)
How is niggas broke? Nigga find you somethin', sell it (somethin')
I wanna drive 'em in, but the safest route is mail it (safe)
Stand right in yo' mama kitchen, cookin' like I'm Melvin (look)
This shit 'bout guns and butter, lil' nigga didn't I tell you?
We ain't doin' petty deals, you got me f*cked up (f*cked up)
The right work, the right time'll have you turnt up (will have you turnt)
Boy I'm from the Dirty Glove, they don't give a f*ck (mm-mm)
Dice in the locker room had me missin' lunch (shh)
I'm with gang still
Good dope and pain pills
Independent, I done gave deals
I'ma remain real (facts)
She gon' tat my name on her face, I got her drank sealed (ooh)
I'ma spread this cake in yo' face, I know how Ike feel
Chain got a light bill
K with the knife still
James Harden step back and shoot him with the left hand
Every time they see me I'm with Red like Meth' Man
If she ain't f*ckin' first night, on sight, get her best friend (come on)

(Thank you Fizzle)
When I touchdown you better tap in
Look I been stackin' up them backends, yeah
I wanna cut, girl, f*ck a lap dance (nah)
We in the field, I ain't got rap friends (for real)
I'm only here to speak the facts, yeah

It was Barneys, Saks, Neiman's in a row
Hit Miami, put yo' boo in a Ghost
Who is him?
You ain't heard of Face? Fool he the GOAT
She wanna f*ck me face to face, so I can hold her by the throat
Carti' shades to block the sun, whites whiter then the Pope
I can't f*ck with gnats no more 'cause them bitches do the most
She got drunk and brought her friend, now I'm cheatin' on 'em both
They woke up and cooked me breakfast, once I ate I told 'em go
All these drugs got me noided, if he move brodie blow
Totin' sticks like cowboys, welcome to the Rodeo
Peep the 10's OVO's
I got twenty on me though (ugh)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

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English

(Thank you Fizzle)

When I touchdown you better tap in (yeah)
Look, I been stackin' up them backends (stackin' 'em up), yeah
I wanna cut, girl, f*ck a lap dance (I don't need no lap dance, nigga, I wanna f*ck some')
We in the field, I ain't got rap friends (for real)
I'm only here to speak the facts, yeah

Got it out the mud, ask my neighbors, he'll tell you (yeah)
You gon' be a star, teachers thought I was a failure (what?)
Valet park the foreign, how I'm livin' got 'em jealous (they mad)
I can't trust these niggas, bring it to me, let me scale it (yup)
How is niggas broke? Nigga find you somethin', sell it (somethin')
I wanna drive 'em in, but the safest route is mail it (safe)
Stand right in yo' mama kitchen, cookin' like I'm Melvin (look)
This shit 'bout guns and butter, lil' nigga didn't I tell you?
We ain't doin' petty deals, you got me f*cked up (f*cked up)
The right work, the right time'll have you turnt up (will have you turnt)
Boy I'm from the Dirty Glove, they don't give a f*ck (mm-mm)
Dice in the locker room had me missin' lunch (shh)
I'm with gang still
Good dope and pain pills
Independent, I done gave deals
I'ma remain real (facts)
She gon' tat my name on her face, I got her drank sealed (ooh)
I'ma spread this cake in yo' face, I know how Ike feel
Chain got a light bill
K with the knife still
James Harden step back and shoot him with the left hand
Every time they see me I'm with Red like Meth' Man
If she ain't f*ckin' first night, on sight, get her best friend (come on)

(Thank you Fizzle)
When I touchdown you better tap in
Look I been stackin' up them backends, yeah
I wanna cut, girl, f*ck a lap dance (nah)
We in the field, I ain't got rap friends (for real)
I'm only here to speak the facts, yeah

It was Barneys, Saks, Neiman's in a row
Hit Miami, put yo' boo in a Ghost
Who is him?
You ain't heard of Face? Fool he the GOAT
She wanna f*ck me face to face, so I can hold her by the throat
Carti' shades to block the sun, whites whiter then the Pope
I can't f*ck with gnats no more 'cause them bitches do the most
She got drunk and brought her friend, now I'm cheatin' on 'em both
They woke up and cooked me breakfast, once I ate I told 'em go
All these drugs got me noided, if he move brodie blow
Totin' sticks like cowboys, welcome to the Rodeo
Peep the 10's OVO's
I got twenty on me though (ugh)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Jeremy Jomar Moore, Josh David Goldenberg, Marcellus Rayvon Register
Copyright: Lyrics © BILL MODE RICO

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