Free Murda - Shorts and Slippers Lyrics

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[Chorus: Free Murda]
Shorts with the slippers on, white tee, fitted on
Shorts with the slippers on, white tee, fitted on
Shorts with the slippers on, white tee, fitted on
White tee, fitted on, shorts with the slippers on

[Free Murda]
Low shorts, slippers on my feet, gold diggers wanna creep
Nah, this nigga don't wanna be
One head in the Chevy, man, I don't want your teeth
Next week I'm vegetarian, I don't wanna 'meat'
Cuban on my neck, Jesus is the piece
Keep it moving, all that tech'll leave you resting in peace
Rest in peace to the homey Jeff Row
Mess with Free then that forty will blow
Nigga already know, that I'm, the same ol' pimp
Free, ain't nothing changed but my chips
That's me, still getting brain from your chick
Not just these dames, cuz these lames on my dick
Me, Free Murda, shorts with the slippers on
White tee, fitted on, Fort Greene, get it on
Me, Free Murda, shorts with the slippers on
White tee, fitted on, Fort Greene, get it on

[Chorus 2X]

[Free Murda]
Dark is on my face, sparking up the haze
Chalking up the space, once I departed from my waist
Hand in my pocket, blonging off your braids
Better tuck and roll like Blanca on the game
Keep fronting, I'mma bang, lay a hand on this chain
That nigga ain't crazy, Gnarls Barkley ain't your name
Your know how that purp do, I'm around like a circle
Have me higher than the pants, that's on Urkel
Plad shorts sagging, down to my slippers
Bad whores bragging, how they unzipped the zipper
She want me to whip her, and pull her g-string
I love T-Pain, make kid fall in love with a stripper
Sip bub in that liquor, until I feel saucey
Hand on my forty, damn if it cost me
What bail, nigga? Say, fuck jail, nigga
Ain't doing time, I tell 'em, go to hell, nigga

[Chorus 2X]

[Free Murda]
Look gangsta in my fitted cap, desert in my white tee
Take and wont give it back, deaded or you might see
Yourself out your slippers, take the soul from your body
No help out to get ya, when I unload from that shotty
Shorts, slippers, white tee, boss nigga, like me
Get it popping in the hood, don't force a nigga like me
Cuz he'll let one go, nigga, just to show ya team
Ain't Young Dro, but that four'll make my shoulder lean
Bagging up dirt, they don't even dig a smell
Bagging up purp, you can weigh it on the Ricter Scale
Force, let that chicken hail, cuz I let that chicken swell
That be money, niggas funny cuz they missing sales
My nig, what you grinning for, ain't no faggots here
Diggin' up in them shorts, pockets all rabbit ears
Think you leaving lavish here, like Yung Joc, call that dope boy magic there
Dope boy, magic here...

[Chorus 2X]