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lirik lagu hands in the air the movie – fes taylor

[intro: fes taylor]
two 4 war/divine films presents hands in the air
(yo, taylor, what up, my baby? and how ya?)
just came back from nebraska and sh-t
(i ain’t seen you in a minute, i been in the studios and sh-t
you worked out hard and sh-t, right?) yea, yea
(i ain’t heard you spit nothing in a minute though, kid
yo, yo, lemme get some new sh-t, kid, right now
we gotta get some new sh-t from you) i don’t know
(right now, baby, haha, i know you got some sh-t for me, man
this ya boy, baby)

[fes taylor:]
2 fly, baby, they love it when i say it
still thugging when i play it
and f-cking with the greatest latest apparrel, my favorite avenues
weigh it and bag it, see how fast this package move
piff, blow a sack or two, rap in the booth
then play the sh-t loud back in the coupe
i’m the artist that wouldn’t give up, hardest
i went from apartments, to big trucks at real estate auctions
caution, crossing me, is like abortions
still in the porsches, making ’em nauseous
wrist like a faucet, mix it with frosted
taylor, say i’m the truth, still different than all them
them niggz riffing, i call ’em a bunch of b-tches
if you see me balling, all my n-gg-z got lunch dishes
i wouldn’t munch delicious, and word to everything
i would’ve beat hoops if the rumors wasn’t still pending

[interlude: fes taylor]
yo, yo, that sh-t was crazy, son, you did
that sh-t was wild, that sh-t was fire, dude
i really like that sh-t, b, yo, you be spitting that sh-t, kid
i like that sh-t, b (yo, hold up, who the f-ck is that over there?
yo, hold up, one second, just being down for kid, just telling you, n-gg-
yo, ha, hold on, hold on, i’m telling these b-tches)

[chorus x2: fes taylor]
see, i’m a fly dude, see me ride through
i’m feeling you mami, your hips and your thighs too
how are you? you looking like a candy store girl
i’m just trying to browse through, how that sound to you?

[fes taylor:]
enough about me, let’s talk about you
see if you open the door when i walk around too
the other side of the car on some bronx tale sh-t
see, i’m living like sunny or them barksdale kids
pardon if i act like you wearing a wire
i beat the, checking me out, stare at my attire
i’m flier than the birds over telephones wires
n-gg-z telling i got birds in from of judge myers
suppliers and buyers, riders, you divide ’em
multiply with cd’s, now they wanna sign ’em
i’ve seen a lot of little me’s, i don’t be around ’em
they try to hate on the kid, i don’t even clown ’em
the sound of them is like silence to my ears
most of the bullsh-t they saying i don’t even hear
crib out in n.c., i ain’t even there
spend my weekends, miami, laying on the beach, share
while she speech hares, she said “lemme speak here”
gotta speak clear, put ya hands in the air

[outro: fes taylor]
yo, what the f-ck? what the f-ck?
what the f-ck type of sh-t is this?
(yo, hold up, you put ya gun down, man)
nah, f-ck that, the f-ck you wan’ play me like that, man?
n-gg-z is bugging, i’m out of here, man
what type of sh-t is this, b?
this sh-t? h-ll yea, you f-cking b-tch
the f-ck kinda sh-t is this?
you smoking weed and sh-t… (yo f-ck that b-tch)
i don’t even wanna believe this sh-t (yo that b-tch a cop) [gunshot]

- fes taylor

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