Was it this pancake?
[** feat. 8Ball, Waka Flocka Flame:]
[Intro:] Yahhhhhhh, it’s Gucci!* Birds, go! Birds, it’s Dirty, Birds It’s Gucci
[Gucci Mane:] I’m an East Atlanta rider You gon’ fuck around and get ya whole clique tied up My brain fried; I’m on the skull of the Impala I’m high on kush, it’s ‘bout my money mixed with power So keep it brief Nigga, two hundred thousand in the fleece Pistols, two hundred twenty on the dash System, I pull off it look like a flash Picture, cheeeeeese! I got the 24’s, those 74 for 2’s When you was on the stage, Gucci was on the news But bitch don’t pity me, I look like Mr. T I pimp like Soulja Slim, but I think I’m Eazy-E It’s Gucci
[Chorus: Gucci Mane] Patty cake, patty cake, I hop around with pancakes I touched down with hash browns and serve ‘em with the pancakes Patty cake, patty cake, I hop around with pancakes Got flapjacks, hash browns and syrup in my crack space Patty cake, patty cake, I hop around with pancakes I touched down with hash browns and serve ‘em with the pancakes Patty cake, patty cake, I serve you niggaz pancakes Flapjacks, hash browns and syrup in my crack space It’s Gucci
[Waka Flocka Flame] I’m the young nigga all the old head love dawg (FLOCKA!) I ain’t lettin shit slide, this ain’t baseball (BRICK SQUAAAD!) Banned in 45 states cause I’m too real Waka Flocka like a Gucci album, I’m hard to kill I don’t think they fuckin with me whether I’m locked dead or in jail I’m from Clayon County, Riverdale so I’m supposed to give ‘em hell I’m aware the grass got snakes, I’m aware they gon’ hate You too late, I’ll be damned you take this dinner off our plate Dirty Birds, Dirty Birds, twenty-one gun salute and got killed It’s Bankhead Brick Squad out in U.K., these niggaz ain’t fuckin with me Mob up off that run day, SK’s, AK’s Throwaways I let that triple up like {?} triple beam we crackin
[Chorus]
[8Ball] Gucci Mane, Waka Flocka and ya boy big Ball Hard from the start; I ain’t never been no fuckin lame Here I go with Waka Flocka, here I go with Gucci Mane One of a kind - that Memphis 10 runnin through my bloodstream Ghetto superstar - man them hood bitches love me Cup full of that ol’ purple drank, pullin on some of that stanky dank Pocket full of Benny Frank and bitch, what the fuck you thank? 45 hollowheads in my stout, yellow purt{?} I hope one of these ol’ bitch bitch-ass niggaz don’t cross that line and get hurt Money what we came to get, money what we represent You ain’t talkin ‘bout shit if you ain’t talkin ‘bout gettin it Hard hustle never fold, forever I will be cold Forever I will be big Ball, mouth full of gold
