Letra Turn On - Soulja Boy, NBA OG 3THREE

Turn On

Say look, lil' baby, won’t you stay home?
Gotta stack my chips, I got them coins for your payphone
No NFL, but I’m like a quarterback, won’t you go long?
And she like «Stop, boy, you been playin' a lil' minute»
Girl, I’m like «Woah, kemosabe»
I’m up in the pussy, hittin' like tennis
I’m tryna put you out your body
This ain’t no cap, bitch, I’m wearing a fitted
I just wanna know, is you a real rider?
Young nigga, he straight up out them trenches
Just want you with me, fuck what you hiding
Call a young nigga to pull up in a Bentley
Nigga said fuck a Masi'
Got a bad bitch with me
Baby, I just want your body
A nigga reachin' for my chain
Nigga, I’m gon' catch a body, yeah
Every day we cashed out, you know rich niggas ball
Inside the mall, Christian Dior
Yeah, you see the money fall
Drop top in the Bentley, yeah the plug keep callin'
Young nigga with them sticks, yeah, we the trending topic
And whatever she want, I got it
Shh, you ain’t gotta talk about it
Girl, I like the way you do that
Slide 'round in the 'rari
Yeah them big racks, we run through that
Hundred K, I’m back in
You know a young nigga been blew that
She like the way I do that
Them choppas, push your shit back (Them choppas, push your shit back)
I like the way you turn that bass on (I do)
Say look, lil' baby, won’t you stay home?
Gotta stack my chips, I got them coins for your payphone
No NFL, but I’m like a quarterback, won’t you go long?
And she like «Stop, boy, you been playin' a lil' minute»
Girl, I’m like «Woah, kemosabe»
I’m up in the pussy, hittin' like tennis
I’m tryna put you out your body
This ain’t no cap, bitch, I’m wearing a fitted
I just wanna know, is you a real rider?
Young nigga, he straight up out them trenches
Just want you with me, fuck what you hiding
You with a real nigga, so don’t you worry 'bout no fucking drama
I got a good vision, so don’t you come here with no fucking problems
And I got a red beam just to spot that motherfuckin' drama
And you know my eyes green, so you know this 4KTrey, lil' mama
Bitch, where your Visine?
Shit, all you see is them fuckin' commas
This ain’t no Wock' lean, but I think you high like a fuckin' rasta
I seen you in my dreams just sucking on this baby bottle
Girl, you just turned me to a fiend, I want you in my pocket
We hit the road, I’m tryna run out all your fuckin' mileage
I don’t pay for tolls, but if you was a ticket, I’d fuckin' buy it
Don’t trick on no ho, but you can go’n get a couple dollars
Don’t know what you know, but I could treat you like a fuckin' scholar (Treat
you good)
I like the way you turn that bass on (I do)
Say look, lil' baby, won’t you stay home?
Gotta stack my chips, I got them coins for your payphone
No NFL, but I’m like a quarterback, won’t you go long?
And she like «Stop, boy, you been playin' a lil' minute»
Girl, I’m like «Woah, kemosabe»
I’m up in the pussy, hittin' like tennis
I’m tryna put you out your body
This ain’t no cap, bitch, I’m wearing a fitted
I just wanna know, is you a real rider?
Young nigga, he straight up out them trenches
Just want you with me, fuck what you hiding