JR WRITER - Stomp lyrics
[Chorus:]
Dip.. bitch.. bitch.. dip
Switch.. hips.. lick.. lips
Miss.. twist.. quick.. flip
Then.. stomp.. then.. stomp
[J.R.: over Chorus]
Geah!
Let's get ready to bounce y'all
Let's do it
[Verse 1:]
I'm so low on fitteds, rose gold show was glittered
The blue was down, Juvenile, "Slow Motion" wit it
The slow flow is vivid, yo whoa hoe I live it
Oh no, throw bows, pros go low and dip it
You know how R twerk, I hit the bar first
For a bottle on a model tryin to converse
Hoe in the back tryin to get out her bra shirt
And pin a broad against the wall like some art work (whoa)
Huh, but I rolled up in a Beamer
Damn near frozen to my sneakers like I rolled up out the freezer (ice)
Plus you ain't never seen a soldier on a skeezer
That make the same chick dip it lower than Christina
Stomp, stomp, nigga front, stomp 'em out
Dip switch lick, that's what the song is about
Get ya condoms out, yes it's time to slide
Mom hot, parkin lot, girl get inside the ride
Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
Stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp)
Stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp
[Chorus x2]
[J.R.: over second Chorus]
Yeah, I don't think y'all understand the true meaning of this song
Let me make it a little clearer for y'all
Yo
[Verse 2:]
This that get it girl, twist and twirl move behind her
This that brush down your Gucci, Louis, new Gabbana
This that Luke baby move lady choose the grinder
This that 2 Live Crew, I need a "Hoochie Mama"
Six minutes, spit it, shit it, dig it, I did it for fun
I that nigga who comes, check and see ya ex and skeet
Can't remember me cause I stay on the tip of her tongue
I make the bitches bounce, pop a duck get 'em found
Cop a Dutch, split a ounce, chop and cut big amounts
I'm in the Switzerland, aqua Swiss, Swiss accounts
Without a deal still my pockets like Swiss account
I eat mobsters for lunch, feed 'em rockets and pumps
Get it shot, listen ock play 'Pac if you want
I'm Cadillac scrap that's my top in the trunk
No cover gutter brother the color's tropical punch
[Chorus x2]
[Verse 3:]
I'm 'bout it 'bout it, crowd the houses and drought with some O's
About the foulest cal for cowards I crouch and reload
A patty waggy ask ya catty I style on them hoes
From nasty natty Cakalacky a mouth full of gold
I'm a nuisance you slut, get ya coupe full of guts
Front stunt, all you want, chump ain't stupid enough
He'll get hit split shit tryin to prove it to us
I sip sizzurp and keep Crunk Juice in my cup
I'm about getting straight some type houses estate
Your wife countin my cake, her nice mouth on my snake
Watch surrounded by flakes, boy and these rocks are annoyin
I can't keep 'em outta my face, uhh
Who's as icy as me, shit I ice sickle T's
It's nothing for the stunt and turn your wife to a ski
My chain hang and man she delighted to see
A hundred karats, faggot wrist full of vitamin D
Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
Stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp)
Stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp
[Chorus x2]
