Fire up that loud, another round of shots
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Yeah, Ya Boy Juicy J
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Smokin' loud on a yacht
Louis V everythang to my motherfucking socks
And I'm living at the top
No ice in my drink, got enough in my watch
And these girls gone wild
Shots got us turnt up, so we can't turn down
VIP gettin' served like tennis balls
Bank accounts dizzy cause we spend it all
Gettin payed, turnt up, there's no better way
Amsterdam smokind I stay at the heaven gates
In the club and she goin off that snow white
Pouring up activist, I need more sprite
Throw this Throw this cash watch me start a riot
Leave the club then we take the chicks to the Hyatt
Still got my whole clique on a clip diet
Ass clapping on that money piling
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Your Majesty walkin through the magic straight
Pussy good I put it on a dinner plate
Leave the strip club for a dinner date
Tryna stop me from smoking like Nicko Ray
Everywhere I go I smell like a Marley
All the bitches with me look like barbie
I ain't wrote in a verse since Lee Harvey
I dress all my cars up Steve Harvey (True)
I see that she drinking a lot
She turn up and she taking them shots
And my watch is so big
You can see it from the parking lot
You know me I'm just looking for thots I'm so hot
So high, Someone need to turn off the watch
My shirt off and I'm taking them shots nigga
Turn down for what
Fire up that loud, another round of shots
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
You know when you hear that haaaan
Turn Down For What
I might pull up in the lamb' or the gat'
Bring a hundred bitches hundred bottles
Turnt up turn down now
G5, G6 fly through anywhere
Turn up till there's no way to turn it
Burn the roof off
Let the mother fucker burn
Let the mother fucker burn
Burn mother fucker
Baby won't swallow
Tell it to another sucker
Made a mill, made another, what a feeling
I fuck a bitch, I'm floatin all the money to the ceilin
I ain't cuff em, I don't love em I ain't cathin feelings
I fill this club up to the fuckin ceiling
I might pull up in the lamb' or the gat'
Bring a hundred bitches hundred bottles
Fire up that loud, another round of shots
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What
Turn Down For What