Five-O ft. Jae Millz %26 Gudda Gudda
Nicki Minaj Lyrics

This, this is another banger
Turn it the fuck up
This is a world premiere

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 (Trapaholics Mixtapes)

We don't t-t-talk, 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 talkin' for?
It 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 shavin'
At the precinct writin' statements on which trap house is the station (damn)
Not I, tattle-tellin' is for homos
Besides, that's the number one Young Money no-no
Police, we don't chat with them
We ain't got no rap for them
You in the cop car pointin' niggas out from the back of them (there he go)
Back seat informer, your papi shoulda warned ya
You even tell po-po I'm black, then you's a fuckin' goner
Yeah, you get high, but I get higher
Mañana, 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 (Holiday Season)

We don't t-t-talk, 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 (uh-huh, yo)

Four, three, two, cocker-doodle-doo
I was out in Africa, Shaka Zulu crew
Ho, ho, ho, red stockings too
Comin' 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 runnin' with the lieutenant
I'm the mistress, I'll be in the District of Columbia
Yes, uh-huh, Washington
Better ask around, 'cause I'm what's poppington
I'm who they think about, playin' 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, 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 (let's get it, uh, yeah)

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 (Trapaholics, bitch)
Uh, church, I hear you preachin' like a fuckin' reverend
Should've killed you in the first place, no second guessin'
Could've killed 'em with the first and the second weapon
DJ Unk 'em with the hands, 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 TEC 'em
Ayy, you lookin' 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