Yung Joc - Patron Lyrics












(Oh, shit! What up Chino Dolla?)
New Joc City, (Here it is, Block..?..)
But right now, you ââ¬Ëbout to witness a nigga gon' of dat patron. (Hu-huh, alright).
I'm talkin' ââ¬Ëbout 7 shots (7 shots? whooo-hoo, shit?! Boyz in da hood).
The next ââ¬Ëround on you nigga, (Alright) hah-hah.
Now what I want ya'll to doââ¬Â¦ (Whatcha want me to do?).
Take that shit to the muthafuckin' head. Let's goââ¬Â¦


This ballers zone, J's on my feet
Im on dat Patron, so get like me

Er-er'body love me, boss so fly,
Niggas throw dey deuces er'time I ride by


C'mon, me tell me what it do, I do it for the ââ¬ËA'.
When the top drop, rock the platinum Cardier.
Got that Microsoft, so they call me Bill Gates.
Ice links around my neck, lookin' like I build gates.
I'm Mista Amoco, yea I got the pumps.
Pockets on swoll, lookin' like they got the mumps.
Im ââ¬Ëbout my change, gotta get the riches.
From the look of thangs ya'll gettin' J.C. pennies.
Pass dat Patron, the limes' right der. Rock with it, lean with in my nik'er.
Wink my eye at cha bitch, now wishing now she could touch.
See the J's on my feet and she love the diamond cuts.
Fresh to death, everyday, like I jumped up outta caskets.
Ask Chino Dolla about that dope boi magic.
Connected like apartments, keep one in the cartridge.
Chevy seats ostrich, name in the carpet.




I mix Patron and ever glow, I call it antifreeze.
Take one sip a drop off to her knees.
Mista V.I.P, get like me. Ice piece on white beat', I call it Iced-t.
Cush by the seven's I call it Mike Vic. She call me officer I hit her with my nightstick.
My swag so mean, anger management.
You call it what you want, I'm on some mo' eleven shit.
These niggas wanna hate, godammit we can handle it.
Mad ââ¬Ëcause I got juice, call me Tropicana bitch.
Joc feel good. Joc buy the bar. Catch me in the hood pimp, rollin' on a ââ¬Ëgar.
I plead to the Judge, I'm guilty of the charge.
Imma balla-holic, can't help it Imma star.
You see the yellow ice, you holla ââ¬ÅOh my God!ââ¬Â
Tynna guess the price, ââ¬ÅEh, ââ¬Ëbout thirty large.ââ¬Â




Er'body wanna know, how I do my thang?
Yea I get money and I let my nutts hang.
Pull up to curb, cut it to the left.
My rims sittin' tall ââ¬Ëtil I a dim the knee-steps.
I just see what I want, then I go get it.
The apple jelly Chevy with peanut butter in it.
So don't get mad, Pimp keep it cool,
I hang with them goons and the boys keep them tools.
I hustle all day, thas just how I live,
Stackin' them big faces, give ââ¬Ëem strippers dolla bills.
Check the dictionary for a P.I.M.P,
When you look it up partna, tell me who ya see?
Young G, Young C, yea thas me.
Twenty-eight G's, on my feet twenty-three's.



Im on dat patron,
So gon on dat Patron, so gon on dat Patron, so get like me.
So gon on dat Patron, so gon on dat Patron, so gon on dat Patron, so get like me.
Get like me, get like me,
So gon on dat Patron, get like me
Writer(s): Jasiel Robinson
Copyright: Granny Man Publishing, Warner-tamerlane Publishing Corp.
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