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    Fabolous / Lyrics

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    "Sickalicious" Lyrics

    Fabolous feat. Missy Elliott

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    Uh, huh, Oh! Yeah, Yeah, Uh! Uh! Yeah, Uh Uh!

    They call me G-H-E-T-T-O
    Black star power, like B-E-T shows
    I'm usually pullin up in the G-T slow
    Flashing my ring finger with the E-T glow
    I'm that nucca, act rucka
    Certified plat nucca
    Semi-auto, gat bucca
    Take that fucka
    Lay flat sucka
    I'm the Negro, amigo
    Get every bay from Tampa to Montigo
    They say I got the lifestyle, and the E glow
    I'm in the blow range, no matter where he go
    I'm that homie
    Gat on me
    I'm the kid not that phony
    Anybody that know me
    Knows im here to get that money! Yeah!

    [Missy Elliott]
    Heeyyyy! Now get that money, keep them rims spicheeeeyyy!
    24 shoes on my Hummer, and they fitting tiiigghhtt!
    Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious righhhhtttt.
    If you a hater make my gun go (Fabolous: Blocka, blocka, blocka, blow!)

    They call me F-A-B, O-L-O
    U-S, you just lay down slow! (Nigga)
    Know this before this, trey pound blow (Uh-Huh)
    Spit game, get dames to lay down low (Ohh!)
    I'm da poppy cholo, the cops say the tops on the drops is to low
    I shop till I drop, when I'm coppin new clothes
    Bop in the hop, but don't stop to use hoes
    I'm that new dude, that include
    Making sure silencers in the gat is screwed
    With an it don't even matter mood
    And a "Fuck you, pay me" attitude
    I'm that young boy, that slung boy
    That'll have em saying, where you get that from boy
    I'm still leaving niggas, at one choice
    So run when you hear, that gun noise! (Blat!)

    [Missy Elliott]
    You say you rich, then come and talk that shit to me
    (Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
    Buy your DVD's and TV's, but I like shoes on my Jeep
    (Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
    24-inch wheels, and a good gold grill in the front
    (Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
    Gotta closet made for big clothes
    Gotta do more then treat me to lunch


    They call me William H period Bonnie
    I ride in a seven series with Tommie's
    I make another on of America's hotties
    And I'm that serious mommy
    I'm the one, like the Jet Li flick
    The private jet ski's sick
    The motors on the jet ski's quick
    The clips in the sets be thick
    And I done slipped more shots in then Gretzky's stick
    I'm the one like Penny Hardaway's number
    That's why dudes say it's hard to keep my broad away from ya
    Once your bitch, get the god 2-way number
    It'll be hard to get a Happy Father's Day from ya
    I'm the one, like the piece that's on Nelly's chain
    You can't reach me, I'm out of your celly range
    Bitch I'll even put canary's up in your belly chain
    And just to beat the traffic, hop in a helly main

    This song was last modified on November 28th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Walter Carl Becker, Donald Jay Fagen, Chad James Elliott, Melissa A. Elliott, John David Jackson.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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