Turnt Up

[Intro: Dizzy Wright] Like nah nah nah Nah nah nah, nah nah nah Nah nah nah Nah nah nah, nah nah nah [Verse 1: Chris Webby] C Web in the booth and I speak it real Got another beat to kill And I be roasting motherfuckers Rest In Peace Patrice O'Neil Roll up another blunt Now how that Diesel feel? Got me swerving man Who the fuck gave me the wheel? Who the fuck gave me these pills? Now I'm off in another dimension In need of an intervention Cause these drugs are too fucking expensive But I'm feeling terrific dude Banging these broads with no fucking protection Yeah, what were you saying babe? I wasn't paying any fucking attention Rumbling engine, rolling up in my Camaro and cruise Living it like a pirate man Always got me a barrel of booze Skipping the food Go right for the tiramisu Sippin' and rippin' the bubbler Puffing until I can barely move Lay back and then stare at the moon, ooh Bippidy bobbidy boo Webby be rippin' it properly too Hipping and hopping and rambling shit Cause these pills I've been popping have got me confused Screwed up, burn it down Light it up, pass it around I'm a bad boy bitch You didn't know? You know it now [Hook] We just doin' what we doin', and we'll never give a fuck Put some liquor in my bottle and some ganja rolled up We just livin' like whatever and we'll never have enough Bout to get this motherfucker turned up (turned up) Like nah nah nah Nah nah nah, nah nah nah Nah nah nah Nah nah nah, nah nah nah [Verse 2: Dizzy Wright] I'm not the one you want a problem with Positive, you better follow it Swear I'm ready for whatever standing in front of my mirror Supporting my confidence A little weed, you could throw it on top of this We get it poppin', yo bitch gettin' topless Now that you know, niggas adopting the flow Niggas can't stop this shit The problem is we won't acknowledge it But me and Webby (I wanna get that) If that nigga wanna get mad, sit up and get up And fuck that (get that) Now I'm playing like a kid on the black top Got the juice with a flat top You got a flat face Bad boy, it's a bad day Look at me sideways, and I'mma hit you with a uppercut Too cold, better bundle up Huddle up cause we comin' up Turnt up, finna fuck it up I guarantee that the crowd go crazy When I hit the stage, you could bet a hunnit bucks Boy we out here grindin' Smoking the finest, getting the highest Getting the mommas, you know when I'm coming Just smell for the ganja Vegas; soldierz, takin' over Traveling and taking shots Tattoo shops, don't forget the place to rock I need a nasty girl to taste the cock In the office, running all over these niggas Like bitches, you niggas is softer than niggas That just got to prison, this Project X shit is real Somebody pass the god damn liquor [Hook] [Verse 3: Chris Webby] That rap phenomenon Inked up, looking like Comic Con, Rasta mon H.A.M. on the mic, no Ramadan Go on and on, and leave with a soccer mom Cause I kill that beat Roll one up in that Swisher Sweet Sticky green, sticky green With orange hairs, like Pete and Pete Flowing double time when I freak the beat Holding up mine when I hit the street Burn so much, I be high for weeks Spit it so dirty, I need new sheets My grinder's full, and I ain't talkin turkey, cheese I'm talking AK47, Purple Kush and Sour D Put it in the bowl, I'll get a dutchie rolled Sprinkle some keef on it, and then away we go Get in the flow, lighting up heady to dro Partying on, got that confetti to throw Killing the spot from the moment That Webby'll step in the door Hit some shit, got my pencil gripped Instrumental ripped, living life Above the law, and way under the influence Getting mine while the price high What can I say? I'm pretty fly for a white guy [Hook]