The Tropaholics - Five-O lyrics

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 Jae Millz 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 a** snitch n***as still gram shaving At the precinct writing statements on which trap house is the station {​DAMN}​ Not I, tattle-telling is for h*mos 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 n***as 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 f**ing goner Yeah you get high, but I get higher Manyana, I just might go to the halfway house and ask your supervisor Chorus Nicki Minaj Yo… 4, 3, 2 co*ka 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 b**hes, eff you snitches, gimmie the heebie jeebies So excuse my twitches (Excuse me!) Lemme get that brewski, n***as know them b**hes 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… b*tchES! Chorus Gudda Gudda Young Money psycho, straitjacket on me Break a n***a jaw if he turn to informant I bring it to your door step, loose lips sink ships n***a So I'mma bring you to the bottom of the ocean [uh chuuch] I hear you preaching like a f**ing reverend Should've k**ed you in the first place, no second guessing Could've k**ed '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 b**h 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 b*atch! Chorus