Pac Div, The Cool Kids - Shut Up lyrics

Knucklehead niggas with the base in the trunk
Bout to bubble like peroxide layin in a cut
Grown ass kids who don't want to grow up
But will have to do it soon
Cause our money's grown up
But even if I had 5 mil in the bank
I'mma still put a 5 dollar bill in the tank
What you thank? I'mma change cause
I got a new Range fuck that ante up
Man who in her got some change
And we lookin for Dame's with
The tight stretch pants
In the big booty stance
With no particular plans
They all like to party and so
Do me and my man's
So we picked a destination and
Head straight to the sands that's the beach
For the fam that's at least once a week
Where we grab a couple freaks and
Show em the coral reef you know what I mean
It's that sticky Cali Green
And it's out your wildest dreams
Listen to the beat and shut up

(Shut Up in between each line)
Just keep your eyes on the road and
It's best you keep your mouth closed
Stop playin with your cell phone
Cause it's about to get thrown
Just keep your eyes on the road and
It's best to keep your mouth closed
And don't you think about touching my stereo

Ay Yo Yo, Ay Yo Yo
Hop in my bucket baby, let's swing a episode
Hit the mall, trick it all
See how far yo credit go
Daddy with them sweaters low
With the Po in front of it
Phoney man of the year
Who you think you fuckin with
Used to get the ugly chicks
Now they all country thick
All they get is trips to
Rosko's for them country grit's
When I'm on my Southern shit
Might hit the Waffle House
Have em gone off the Kush
Leave em with the cotton mouth
Bring 'em in, swap 'em out, seat 'em in
Knock em down
See them twin woofers beatin hard
Time to quite down
Let me play the pilot now
Listen to that vibrasound
I was Holy Moly when Smoke
Was singin "Shop Around"
See my Collar? Pop it now
Neiman Marcus shoppin now
Hair did, nails did
Got you lookin proper now
Wow! You stylin on 'em
Flyer than falcons on 'em
This is for my ladies who crazy
And got a mouth on 'em shut up!

Naw, there ain't another nigga flyer
My bitch so cold you could
Promote her on the flyer
These ugly chicks hatin when I'm
Rollin up beside her
Bendin them corners til the
Curb kiss the tires
These ho niggas liar's that's
Word to the Choir
I be with my nigga Dom in Leimert smokin fire
Where's my lighter? Mash the
Kush in the Cypher in that puff pass motion
But I ain't touchin yo saliva
You juicy-mouthed chickens cluckin in
Them hoochie outfit's
Swift don't just dock the tracks
With people we house with
Don't talk to me bout fashion
Dog you be wil'in
You still think Coogi stylish?
Who's ya stylist?
I'm usually loungin, puffin on some ganja
Bumpin some Sinatra, cuttin up some pasta
Snackin with my elbow on
The table eatin Lobsters
Napkin over the collar in case
I'm sloppy with the salsa man, shut up