Five-O

[Chorus:]
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.

[Ver1:]
Mister officer, mister officer
I'm sorry I don't wanna take a walk with ya
Matter of fact, I ain't try'na talk to ya
We ain't got no business, so what we talking for?
There ain't no need to bring me in for no interrogation
Cause about that boy who just got shot, I gots 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.

Chorus

[Ver2:]
Yo… 4, 3, 2
Cocka doodle do
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, eff 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 he 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!

[Chorus]

[Ver3:]
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'mma bring you to the bottom of the ocean [uh chuuch]
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 attack em
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!

[Chorus]