Cory Gunz - Mr. Fresh lyrics
Verse 1:
1, 2, buckle my shoe
Unlaced ears, lil' mama, what it do (what you mean)
What it do to fit you on those jeans
On your thighs so tight its like your hips can't breathe
Im in the spot with my wrist on freeze
And a couple of thugs with a grip on squeeze
Pair of champs on, I get my limp on
Like I get my pimp on, play you just bench warm
Summertime, my Louis flips on
Before I make u wanna get your tip on
You said lil' Ron names his own
He keeps it fly, I don't know what your mans on
See I less see once we get our Benz on
You step on my Nikes, ice is what your chin's on
I'm in this game just tryin' to get my friends on
And all you blockers get defended
Hook:
Now y'all you tell me is the fitted low? (Yes)
Money low? (No)
Ice Bright? (Bright)
Kicks tight? (Fo' sho)
Game tight? (Fo' sho)
Haters see me? (Yes)
Never none less lil' homie just call me Mr. Fresh
Just call me Mr. Fresh
Just call me Mr. Fresh
Just call me Mr. Fresh
Just call me Mr. Fresh
Verse 2:
They like why you gotta be so fly
Homie I got it from the street, no lie
Between me and you shorty I see bare sheets
It must be in opposite the dead sleep
See me pull up in the red jeep
See me hop out with the red sneaks
See me pull up in the blue Coupe
Rims match the kicks blue boots
See me pull up in some green clean
Probably rockin' a pair of mean greens
But you don't know I get green seems
The US probably in the same dream
Heavy gleam, I make my limousines lean
Ain't no one ons, we known to intervien
But I swear if I looked you in the face
It'll be like I took a picture in your face
Or rather like Tyson hit you in the face
You waitin' to take my shit now this a taste
Hook
Verse 3:
You wanna know what I'm about? paper
The way you put your money let ya mouth make-up
I make ya lil' mama she'll break-up
I'm just a lil' fresh spouse taker
Ya sleepin' on me homie better wake up
Ya girl just spotted me comin' outta Jacob
Her thoughts are probably that I got my cake up
My weights up I aint gotta play tough
Pimpin' that's just how I'm livin'
Chill in spots you wish you could live in
Sippin', spinnin' women linen
We grindin', shinin', grippin', winnin'
Names exchanged, digits are givin'
Slackin' my mack, name slippin' my pimpin'
Gonna splurge like this shit is tradition
Mother herbs got the chips
Hook
