Pups Lyrics - Asap Ferg

Arf, arf, arf 

Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) 

Where my dawgs at? (Right here, dawg) 

Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) 

Now where my dawgs at? 

I said get at me 

I'm talkin' to you niggas with that rap beef 

Get at me 

Ostrich-skin seats like it's acne 

Get at me 

Never tacky, jeans made by Acne 

Fuck Governor Pataki and Patakis 

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It's about to get uglier than Balenciagas 

Felt bad I never finished college 

Now we fuckin' cuties with booties in Dapper Dan silk pajamas 

Livin' the dream, open up your eyelids 

Me and Flacko on a island with a few bad bitches 

How my cousin make a mil' off a du-rag business? 

All my dawgs with the shit, you with a few cat litters 

All the yellow with the black like the Wu back 

Back when I was rentin' beds, I was still catchin' head 

If I was bussin' dishes, I'd be still fuckin' bitches 

Boof pack, gift wrapped just like Christmas 

Gone for a minute, now I'm back, did you miss me? 

Had the whole Harlem World wearin' Under Armours 

Under the armors, I'm a pretty mothafuckin' comma 

Gorgeous comma, pretty much about to fuck your mama 

Kinda runnin' late for this meetin' with Obama 

I ain't mean it to rhyme, but call me when your mind right 

Meet me with your romper, CC me when the vibe right 

More money, more problem, more chopper, more drama 

And I got these hoes, feelin' like Mo Bamba 

Photos 

Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) 

Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) 

Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) 

Now where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) 

Who gon' do what? My dawgs gon' tool up 

Nigga, look out, 'cause look down like one, two, fucked 

And we don't give two fucks 

Where I'm from, you lunch, you food 

Niggas called your bluff 

Pockets Warren Buffett, security guard too buff 

I like my songs screwed up 

I own a gold toothbrush, I get my gold tooth buffed 

I'ma stomp a nigga out in Timberland nubuck 

Young Buck, too buck, Benz truck, new truck 

Big horns, tuba, more good than Guba 

They tried to hit us like Huey with the armpits up 

But we swerved through the bullets, get your targets up 

Hood Pope up in this bitch, in Trap Lord we trust 

Now where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) 

Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) 

Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) 

Now where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) 

I said get at me 

I'm talkin' to you niggas with that rap beef 

Get at me 

Ostrich-skin seats like it's acne 

Get at me 

Never tacky, jeans made by Acne 

Fuck Governor Pataki and Patakis