All City - Hot Joint (Clark Kent Remix) lyrics

[Chorus/Intro: Woman]

"So hot.. I'm burnin up" [x4]

[J. Mega]

Who got ya? With flows like aqua

Mega ?? sit the imposter, bound to prosper

Hits we got a lot-a, sippin on straight vodka, puffin chaka

Lust to conquer, nigga, I'ma monster

Call me Ontra for short, I'm confident

As far as this, nice no arguments

Rock garments, raw contents

Its obvious, we about to cop cars from this

Rock continents, money over margin and the consequence

Niggas never starve again, its marvelous

Be a heart-throb with chicks

The drama shit, y'all niggas hate

But I'ma do my thing, to beat fate

Ten-room joint, leave your name at the gate

Gold brunches at one G a plate

[Chorus]

[Greg Valentine]

Yo; I'm on the rise like hot air

It don't stop there, so popular I glare

Hoes stop to stare, they volunteer

To come out of their underwear

For this debonair, nigga with millionaire flair

Are you through fuckin with them lame-ass queers?

Ya need for a true baller severe

In my wardrobe, there's Cartier

Pierre Cardans on my Cardigans

Black sedans, in the summer the sports coupe

Master plan for a brother to score loot

Goin all out pursuit for a house on the hill

I conjure up a thousand ways to make me a mill

I don't give a fuck if time sits still, I keep strivin

European cars I'm drivin

Top of the line shit, six V-12's and better

My people got their shit together, lets get this cheddar

[Chorus]

[J. Mega]

B-K baby, all the way baby

Mixin Hennesey with the Alizay baby

G.V. baby, Larry, baby. Don't swing the air thing, gravy, baby

For instincts, every joint gainin interest

From the entrance, we came different

Now every whip come with gloss, fully tinted

Went from wishes to paid expenses

Six digits, the way we roll tremendous

Sip Guinness, Brooklyn dukes, no gimics

Just vintage rap shit, beyond the limits

Lips splendid, money comes I spend it

You want in, dukes? I got you in a minute

[Greg Valentine]

Yo, yo; we some slick talkin, New Yorkin

Quick walkin, chicks hawkin, pumpin our's in they walkmans

Often, sex women in the loft and show them hoes whose boss

And pussy scorchin; flossin, like fight night in Vegas

Ice sparklin like Sammy Davis

Some praise us, others player-hate us

Jealous niggas, the hell with you niggas

[Chorus]