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    Rasheeda / Lyrics

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    "Do It" Lyrics

    Rasheeda feat. Pastor Troy

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    (feat. Pastor Troy, Re Re, Quebo Gold)


    Do it, (come on now)
    Do it, (come on now)
    Do it,
    (Come on) Do the damn thang

    [Verse 1: Rasheeda]

    Come on let's start this shit
    Shawty let's crank this shit
    A little sumethin for them hatin' hoes
    Who gets nothin' but them knees and boes
    Why ya'll all in my grill,
    Why ya'll can't keep it real
    Always tryin' to plot and scheme
    Wanna live this life is just a dream
    Ain't no I in teams
    All the real niggas know what it mean
    Catch me ya'll just to slow
    Hatin' hoes gotta let ya'll go
    Don't never try to stop my flo'

    Won't tell you this shit no mo'
    Da baddest hoe that you ever seen
    Two triple O, shawty bout that green

    [Verse 2: Que Bo Gold]

    Naw they don't understand
    These niggas don't understand
    These muthafuckers think we playin
    See they don't know what we sayin
    Fake niggas in our grill
    Fake niggas all in our grill
    These niggas don't wanna get to it
    These niggas don't wanna do it


    Do it, (come on now)
    Do it, (come on now)
    Do it,
    (Come on) Do the damn thang

    [Verse 3: Re Re]

    You can tell a real nigga from the fake fake
    A trill nigga that's down in the cake cake
    A hot girl that's clean not stank stank
    Some bad weave for somebody
    So u took a little drank
    So I guess it made u think that you could when u can't
    Wit the N with the ain't
    Ain't nobody got time round here to playing round
    Sucka wit the big sack nigga better lay it down
    Comin' through ain't bout that shady shit
    Boy I'm mo' dirty than Dusty Rhodes
    I drop the beat and rock the flo'
    Representing that Que Bo Gold
    So don't you try to test us out thinkin' we country wit no skills
    Cuz I drop the bass and tame the bass
    Put this fire to yo grill

    [Verse 4: Rasheeda]

    Well I was born in Illinois okay ah
    Raised in Atlanta, G-A yah
    Lived in New York and L.A. yah
    My nigga I'm da shit no matter where I stay
    Cuz, uh, I wuz cut like that, lil buddy i'm stacked like that
    From da front to da side to da back, Rasheeda, and I'm tight like that
    I ain't never been worried bout anotha
    Cutter her buddy, lil buddy I don't studder
    9 double lock chrome for the lame lame
    Big faces in my pocket not the chump change
    Ride the Benz with the wood grain, grilled out, smoke frame,
    with the knock knock
    38 pop pop all you haters just stop
    Or you gone get dropped


    Do it, (come on now)
    Do it, (come on now)
    Do it,
    (Come on) Do the damn thang

    [Verse 4: Pastor Troy]

    Brrrrdt! Uh, Stick em, ha ha ha, stick em
    Fuck dem pussy niggas and who ever wit em
    All I say is sic em
    And there go my boys
    D-S-G-B, Pastor damn Troy
    Boy you ain't ready
    Boy you don't want it
    Boy we ain't ready, bitch get disappointed
    Shit, all I know is southern blo'd not lower than a dime
    From thirty piece to quarter ki we strictly on da grind
    No time to spit no evidence, no evidence, no charge
    Since they ain't got no evidence
    I gave them my lil boy
    The scars from my hand as I crank up the speaker
    Drop the bomb on you bitches, Pastor and Rasheeda
    Bitch, do it!!


    Do it, (come on now)
    Do it, (come on now)
    Do it,
    (Come on) Do the damn thang
    This song was submitted on October 19th, 2014 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Thanks to Snap for the contribution to this song.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Damon Yul Wimbley, Mark Morales, Darren Robinson, Rasheeda Buckner, Karesha Jones, Niqua Jones, Micah Le Var Troy.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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