Lyrics Young Chris - The Jet-Sons

The Jet-Sons Lyrics – Young Chris

Singer: Young Chris
Title: The Jet-Sons

Bet you never met a n***a like me
Spitta came for the Nike’s, these checks written off
Payed to the order of, he who resides in the high-rises
Above the city of crime, our music changin’ their minds

Opening eyes, you witness history
I am the epitome, of a n***a doin’ what he please and getting cheese simultaneously
Their flows ain’t as craze as these
I got a million of ’em, bet you out there, get the crowd moving with any of them

Got them going, got ’em coming
Spitta revolving. don’t go around, merry-go
Suckas marry hoes, and try to turn them into housewives
After the show, she into telling with us, she’s surprised

I’m doing my own thing, you should stop doing me
And stay in your own lane, n***a get your swag right
I’m doing my own thing, you should stop doing me
And stay in your own lane, n***a get your swag right

I’m doing my own thing, n***a-nig-n***a get your swag right
I’m doing my own thing, n***a-n***a get your swag right
I’m doing my own thing, n***a get your swag right
I’m doing my own thing, n***a-nig-n***a get your swag right

Gorilla in the mist, still on my Bape sh*t
Play with hoes in my Playcloths, shout out to the Clipse
Stroll through the mall, stop for some chicks, took a couple pics
Asked what’s the same ole’ sh*t

Oh so, play them old whips, you know how I roll
Chevy so fast, shawty’s scared, ridin shotgun with her eyes closed
N***as know I buy O’s, like I’m on the Wheel of Fortune
Hope you get it, won’t be too surprised if you didn’t

Have to take a second listen, be my guest I ain’t trippin
Women tell me you ain’t like the other rappers, you different
Cause I don’t put on a front, I put on for my city
I put my n***as on, and I put them on some bad b*t*hes, yeah!

You know how it go down when I come in this b*t*h, ya heard me
Walk like a pimp, n***a talk real dirty
Ladies love my boy like I’ma prince or something
So I just chill back and play with their t#ts or somethin’

They don’t mind, they be like “Go, Dee-Low!”
After the show, they like “Can we come, Dee-Low?”
Nah give me your digits and I’ll give you a call
You know I’m all booked up, sorry ho

What do you expect, I’ma pimp, a balla’ ho
You see the crew, you see the bong, you see the plane color floor
J-j-just watch us, I glow
If you Dee to the Low, me and Spitta bout to take a trip to Tokyo

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Lyrics Young Chris – The Jet-Sons

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Disclosure: As an Amazon Associate and an Apple Partner, we earn from qualifying purchases