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Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Wiz Khalifa - Choosin Lyrics


[Verse 1: Curren$Y]
Daytime - Lights On
Hell Yeah I’m Frontin’ 
But You Love It

I Don’t Hide, Bitch, 
I’m High When I’m In Public
Even In My Everyday Ride I Be Stunting
This Is Nothing, Really,
 
You Should See Me Sunday
I’m From New Orleans, 
Love, So You Know How I’m Coming
Hop Out That Impala, Left The Motor Running

There’s My Lil’ Homies Front That Store, 
They Ain’t Gon’ Touch It
“Spitta, Where You Going?”
I’m Finna Make The Money

I Come Through In That Bread Truck, 
Everybody Hungry
I Be Tryna Keep It Low, 
But The Streets Be Talking

I Heard They Think I’m Selling Dope, 
On Them Walkie-Talkies
They Worse Than Them Bitches, 
Them Bitches Be Stalking

Outside Checking For 
Which Car A Nigga Parked In
She Said She From Belize, 

But She Can Speak Ferrari
I Roll That Tree And Write 
A Song About It In The Morning

Pull Up In That… And Them Bitches Start Choosing
Choosing, Choosing, Choosing, Choosing
Pull Off In That… And Them Haters Gon’ Lose It
Lose It, Lose It, Lose It, Lose It

Pull Up In That… And Them Bitches Start Choosing
Choosing, Choosing, Choosing, Choosing
Pull Off In That… And Them Haters Gon’ Lose It
Lose It, Lose It, Lose It, Lose It

Pull Up Pushing Buttons, Blowing OG Like It’s Nothing
Marijuana Fussing, Smoking Loud, It’s No Discussion
Black And Yellow, Black And Yellow, Something Out Of Nothing
Choppers Like The Russians, Bust Your Head, That’s A Concussion

Full-Time Grinder, 
All-The-Time Hustling
Bitch I’m From The ‘Burg, 
So You Know That I Be Thugging

Made It From The Bottom So In God We Put Our Trust In
Certified Stoner, Get Up Raw And Put A Nug In
‘Raris, ‘Raris, ‘Raris, Lamborghini, Hara-Kiri
Suicidal Doors, Tell The Owner I Said “Sorry”

Pull Up In That Uno, 
Pockets Felt Like Sumo
Taylor Gang Or Die, 
Jet La, La, La, La…

My Homies, We Sold Pills, 
The Motive Is Chrome Wheels
Pullin’ Up To Club Live,
Makin’ Them Hoes Peel

My Niggas Was Way Trill, 
Wardrobe Was Unreal
My Cuban Was Spanish Gold, 
So Vintage Was My Gazelles

I’m Talkin’ The Facts Of Life, 
Can I Just Have A Slice?
Backseats At The Game, 
‘Bron Havin’ A Night

Let ‘Em Go Check The Stats, 
Cause All I Want Is The Racks
Even Moving The Merch, 
I’m Getting Sixty A Hat

MCM On My Luggae, 
Reebok Making Me Butter
Be Hittin’ Cuban Cigars, Bumbaclot, 
He Think He Does This

Double M, We The Hottest 
On The F**king Turf
I’m Goin’ Straight To Heaven, 
Crib Built Like A Church

Pull Up In That… And Them Bitches Start Choosing
Choosing, Choosing, Choosing, Choosing
Pull Off In That… And Them Haters Gone Lose It
Lose It, Lose It, Lose It, Lose It



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