Nicki Minaj, Gudda Gudda, Jae Millz - Five-O lyrics

Where my straight jacket at? I’m a psycho
Where that white blow? Why they copy my flow?
If it’s not Young Money, it’s a typo
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O

We don’t t-t talk, talk to Five-O
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O
If it’s not Young Money, it’s a typo
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O

Mister officer, mister officer
I’m sorry I don’t wanna take a walk with ya
Matter of fact, I ain’t tryna talk to ya
We ain’t got no business
So fuck we talking for?
There ain’t no need to bring
Me in for no interrogation
Cause about that boy who just got shot
I got no information
These broke ass snitch niggas
Still gram shaving
At the precinct writing statements on which
Trap house is the station (Damn)
Not I, tattle-telling is for homos
Besides, thats the Number 1 Young Money no no
Police, we don’t chat with them
We ain’t got no rap for them
You in the cop car pointing niggas
Out from the back of them (There he go)
Back seat informer
Your papi shoulda warned ya
You even tell PoPo I’m black
Then you's a fucking goner
Yeah you get high, but I get higher
Manyana, I just might go to the
Halfway house and ask your supervisor

Where my straight jacket at? I’m a psycho
Where that white blow? Why they copy my flow?
If it’s not Young Money, it’s a typo
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O

We don’t t-t talk, talk to Five-O
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O
If it’s not Young Money, it’s a typo
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O

Yo… 4, 3, 2, cocka doodle doo
I was out in Africa, Shaka Zulu crew
Ho ho ho, red stockings too
Coming down the chimney
You're chopped 'n' screwed
It’s me, bitches, F you snitches
Gimmie the heebie jeebies
So excuse my twitches
Excuse me! Lemme get that brewski
Niggas know them bitches can’t do
It like I dooski i just pull up
Chuck the deuce in some blue denim
And I just heard you
Running with the lieutenant
I’m the mistress
I be in the District of Columbia
Yes, uh huh, Washington better ask around
Cause I’m what's popping-ton
I’m who they think about
Playing with they pee pee
Gotta count sheep, B, cause I’m never sleepy
Yes, I’m the chief, you can
Find me in my teepee, bitches

Where my straight jacket at? I’m a psycho
Where that white blow? Why they copy my flow?
If it’s not Young Money, it’s a typo
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O

We don’t t-t talk, talk to Five-O
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O
If it’s not Young Money, it’s a typo
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O

Young Money psycho, straitjacket on me
Break a nigga jaw if he turn to informant
I bring it to your door step
Loose lips sink ships nigga
So I’ma bring you to the bottom of the ocean
Uh, church
I hear you preaching like a fucking reverend
Should've killed you in the first place
No second guessing
Could've killed 'em with the first
And the second weapon
DJ Unk 'em with the hand
I two-step and deck 'em
Then I grab the choppa
Blue flame Houston wreck 'em
Kick a snitch head through a
Goal like David Beckham
Make way, respect 'em, I could AK or tech 'em
Ay, you looking at a gangster in his essence
Now, bitch
Bow down when a gangster in your presence
'Cause I’m God’s gift like a present
For one
Don’t try me I could give you two lessons
You peasants get murdered if you do test 'em
Gudda Gudda, biatch!

Where my straight jacket at? I’m a psycho
Where that white blow? Why they copy my flow?
If it’s not Young Money, it’s a typo
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O

We don’t t-t talk, talk to Five-O
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O
If it’s not Young Money, it’s a typo
There them lights go, we don’t talk to Five-O