The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
Yeah,
Drought 3
Hahaha
Yeah
Scott Storch
Bitch, I'm back on my grizzy, Young Money, where you at?
Two tables and a mic, tell the DJ run it back
Bi-Bitch, I'm back on my grizzy, Young Money, where you at?
Two tables and a mic, tell the DJ run it back, bi-bi-bi-bi-
Hahaha
You ready now? Cut me up, Drew
Cut the music up, baby
Yeah, I'm going in, haha
Scott Storch
Bitch, I'm back on my grizzy, Young Money, where you at?
If you fuck with Young Money, Young Money, where you at?
Like the Energizer Bunny with a battery pack
Boy, that chopper keep drumming, like brr-at-da-dat-dat
Or "Pa-rum-pa-pum-pum," and I'm so young
But I'm a giant, like, "Fe-Fi-Fo-Fum"
Just bought a new crib inside Sodom
Got some money put away in case the hurricane come
I'm a fucking shame, huh? Yeah, I know, yeah, I know
I go out the country to get all my clothes and my hoes
I go out my way just to get my 'dro and my dough
'Cause I love it more than I love my hoes, yes I doh's
I got gasoline coming out my pores, I'm a torch
I got glasses like that white boy Scott Storch, and a Porsche
I got license for the scorch, snipers at your porch
Rifles by the forts, and we shoot up courts
The judge just a bitch, the jury suck dick
I'm a Eastside Blood, and I don't smoke that Crip
I smoke that kush, first name "Bubba"
First name "Young," last name "Stunna"
Carter in the office, take notes when I'm talking
Smooth as a cruise boat, floats when I'm walking
I boast 'cause I'm balling, I'm 'posed to be balling
When I'm on the phone with bitches, man, the money keep calling
You ain't satisfied 'til your son'll be calling
Telling you where to leave the money in the morning
Oka,y you want a zombie movie instead
That's when you walk in your house, and everybody dead
Yeah, I could take a shit where I stand, where I stay
And watch you pussies piss in your pants
You ain't a man, you're a ho, I could kill him with the flow
And then play the guitar at the fucking funeral
Yeah, big guns, so they drinking big shots
And my gang go Saddam Hussein and missile-launch
The Korean call me "Wayne Chang"-now listen, ma
I don't know karate, but after the brain, I'll kick you out
You niggas suck like Tony Romo, no homo
And I'm all about my money, I get paid for promo, yeah
I'm the man in this bitch
They say money talks, well, I'm the ventriloquist
And if I ever jump, I'll probably land in your bitch
Boy, that ho colder than my hand and my wrist
Boy, I'm more cooler than a fan and a mint
And when I'm done, this track will need a couple bandages
I be with savages, and I'm above average
I'm a crazy-ass star like a fucking asterik
You niggas can't see me, I'm on my Casper shit
Running so much game, I fuck around and lap a bitch
The club like a grocery, I just bag a bitch
And you know I'm gon' score like Deion after picks
I'm rollin' on a pill, she get that morning-after dick
And when my roll came down, guess what I did after it?
I pop-popped, and took some Patron shots
I pop-popped, and took some Grey Goose shots
I pop-popped
Yeah
Young Money, bitch, and if you niggas wanna do it
We chop-chop, and leave your back on the block
We pop cops, and ain't no rats on my block, I got shop
I got that dro, I got them pills, I got that yay'
Give it to them hoes and watch them bitches freak away
Hahaha
Young Money, bitch
Drought 3, in your neck, pussy
Haha
Like a Adam's apple, nigga
Weezy Baby, the God, amen-gone
Drought 3
Hahaha
Yeah
Scott Storch
Bitch, I'm back on my grizzy, Young Money, where you at?
Two tables and a mic, tell the DJ run it back
Bi-Bitch, I'm back on my grizzy, Young Money, where you at?
Two tables and a mic, tell the DJ run it back, bi-bi-bi-bi-
Hahaha
You ready now? Cut me up, Drew
Cut the music up, baby
Yeah, I'm going in, haha
Scott Storch
Bitch, I'm back on my grizzy, Young Money, where you at?
If you fuck with Young Money, Young Money, where you at?
Like the Energizer Bunny with a battery pack
Boy, that chopper keep drumming, like brr-at-da-dat-dat
Or "Pa-rum-pa-pum-pum," and I'm so young
But I'm a giant, like, "Fe-Fi-Fo-Fum"
Just bought a new crib inside Sodom
Got some money put away in case the hurricane come
I'm a fucking shame, huh? Yeah, I know, yeah, I know
I go out the country to get all my clothes and my hoes
I go out my way just to get my 'dro and my dough
'Cause I love it more than I love my hoes, yes I doh's
I got gasoline coming out my pores, I'm a torch
I got glasses like that white boy Scott Storch, and a Porsche
I got license for the scorch, snipers at your porch
Rifles by the forts, and we shoot up courts
The judge just a bitch, the jury suck dick
I'm a Eastside Blood, and I don't smoke that Crip
I smoke that kush, first name "Bubba"
First name "Young," last name "Stunna"
Carter in the office, take notes when I'm talking
Smooth as a cruise boat, floats when I'm walking
I boast 'cause I'm balling, I'm 'posed to be balling
When I'm on the phone with bitches, man, the money keep calling
You ain't satisfied 'til your son'll be calling
Telling you where to leave the money in the morning
Oka,y you want a zombie movie instead
That's when you walk in your house, and everybody dead
Yeah, I could take a shit where I stand, where I stay
And watch you pussies piss in your pants
You ain't a man, you're a ho, I could kill him with the flow
And then play the guitar at the fucking funeral
Yeah, big guns, so they drinking big shots
And my gang go Saddam Hussein and missile-launch
The Korean call me "Wayne Chang"-now listen, ma
I don't know karate, but after the brain, I'll kick you out
You niggas suck like Tony Romo, no homo
And I'm all about my money, I get paid for promo, yeah
I'm the man in this bitch
They say money talks, well, I'm the ventriloquist
And if I ever jump, I'll probably land in your bitch
Boy, that ho colder than my hand and my wrist
Boy, I'm more cooler than a fan and a mint
And when I'm done, this track will need a couple bandages
I be with savages, and I'm above average
I'm a crazy-ass star like a fucking asterik
You niggas can't see me, I'm on my Casper shit
Running so much game, I fuck around and lap a bitch
The club like a grocery, I just bag a bitch
And you know I'm gon' score like Deion after picks
I'm rollin' on a pill, she get that morning-after dick
And when my roll came down, guess what I did after it?
I pop-popped, and took some Patron shots
I pop-popped, and took some Grey Goose shots
I pop-popped
Yeah
Young Money, bitch, and if you niggas wanna do it
We chop-chop, and leave your back on the block
We pop cops, and ain't no rats on my block, I got shop
I got that dro, I got them pills, I got that yay'
Give it to them hoes and watch them bitches freak away
Hahaha
Young Money, bitch
Drought 3, in your neck, pussy
Haha
Like a Adam's apple, nigga
Weezy Baby, the God, amen-gone
Lyrics submitted by HypNoTiQxKiSs3z
Back On My Grizzy Lyrics as written by Dwayne Carter
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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this songs hard as shit its self explanitory
I go out the country to get all my clothes and my hoes, And i go out my way just to get my dro and my doe, *Cause, I love it more than i LOVE my hoes yes i doess,
The judge IS a bitch,
Still hot