T-Pain

Nappy boy (nappy boy)
Whoo!
Three ringz
Yeah, we the class clowns jump shoot
Third time around dog

If I was just to step in the ring
And outta the box
Would everybody be on my
Or will I stop

Say hello to my lil friend, hey
Stars change up like lip Kim
Face it, I let my heat swing t-pain so acting homie
The way the beat bump niggas try to get proactive on me (damn)
But I done cleared the rumors
Everything in the open
Now you know how big the room is
Tell her what the truth is
They can't handle it
They're like a nigga slicker than a mayonnaise sandwich
But they be like god dammit, pause
This nigga pocket fatter than Santa Claus (ohhh)
This nigga career big like some granny drawers
Hadda get a piano to put his grammy on
Yeah, Ferrari, Bentley, Escalade, Beamer, mini-coop,
Cut the check, escapade, fuck her bad, make it rain, lamborghini
I goin' cover shit up like a transfered
I give a damn if you seen me I'ma did what I does
I ain't doing shit wrong like no kissin' my cousin
I know you wanna hear something different
Ain't you tired of his shit
Ain't you curious about this shit
Even if you picked this shit up from a distance at least stand still for a second and listen
I'm telling you now it ain't a thing
I got the bling bling of a rapper but I sing
So welcome to three ringz

Written by FRANK ROMANO, FAHEEM RASHEED NAJM
Published by Universal Music Publishing Group

Lyrics Provided By LyricFind Inc.