Wet My Whistle - Royce 5'9, Sara Stokes

Uh, Uh, Uh, Uh, Uh, Adjust ya radio

Boy you got me tripping, boy you got me tripping

Baby wet my whistle, boy you got me tripping

You got me heated

So won’t you wet my whistle, boy you drive me crazy

And I can’t get enough

(It's him) With the B-to the Double O-M

You can feel the breeze from the Rover, the Benz

You can hear it over and over again

As I get closer and closer, then

Rolling by the pose with the blow and the dro and the blend, with the soldier

grin

Rolling by the sto’with the 4−0, sitting in my lap like Ice Cube way back when

But we too grown, so we roll by a hoe in the two tone, Maybach Benz

sell it to the streets

Nigga yelling that to me, you selling that for cheap

You best stick to walking, unless you’d like to be offed’en

For less then the price of a coffin

Nigga where them dollars at’Straighten up your face

I’m smelling you aroma, you hating up the place

Before I start K’ing up the place, this is what you fearing

+ (Royce Da 5'9″)

(This is what you hearing, Boom)

(This is what you hearing, Boom)

(Boom)

(This is for the trunks with them thangs in 'em, Boom)

(This is for the trunks with them thangs)

(Boom)

(This is for the trunks with them thangs in 'em, Boom)

It’s him, with the B-to the Double O-M

You can feel the breeze from the Rover, the Benz

You can hear it over and over again

As I get closer and closer, then

Sounding like a plane on the landing strip

Wheels looking like fans on a whip

Backseat of my Benz lets swing an episode

Come on, cheat on ya man ma, he don’t have to know

I got a room like the Real World confessional

Booth, I only allow true professional

Uh-uh, that's a no Uh-uh, that's a no, I bring a light to ya hood with me Hop in this car and shine honey if you wanna be looking good with me You see that full clip by him, like he that

hood rich nigga

Riding in that BF Goodrich tire

My status in the streets don’t matter

When the haters come thru like the static in the speakers

Boom, niggaz at the car wash looking scheming

Tires gleaming ya’ll stay mad

At the wood grain in the parque dash

Stash in the deck, albums banging

Off the fiberglass of the Vette

While we hanging, doing our thang

Me and one of my mayne, it’s a summertime thang

Boy you got me tripping

Boy you got me heated

And I can’t get enough