Ooh, shawty snap in that red dress,

I’m T-Pain, got the auto in my breath;

I’m a buy you a drank, then another,

Till the moon fall down and the beat go under.

We gon’ toast to the sky, drip C?roc on ice,

Put your phone on flight, disappear tonight;

Tell the bartender “keep the peach Ciroc comin’,”

When the hook drop, baby, promise you gon’ love it.

Auto-Tune howlin’ out the tin roof,

I’m the G-O-A-T, got the Ghost in the rearview.

Weezy in the passenger, blunt bigger than a statute,

codeine in the chalice, turn the coupe to a chapel.

Pain on the bridge, I’m a sermon and a syllable,

Wayne on the verse—every bar a crematorium.

Came from the swamp, left the mud on the Grammy,

still hustle every beat like the rent due in Miami.

I’m the glitch in your get-rich, the crown in the mosh pit;

if talk is cheap, then my goat chat cost a spaceship.

This Is How We Do It (Explicit) – T-Pain

This is how we do it

This is how we do it

Sha la la la la la lo

This is how we do it

This is how we do it

It’s Friday night and I feel all right

The party is here on the West Side

So I reach for my 40 and I turn it up

Designated driver take the keys to my truck

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Yeah, we on that neon drip,

bass hit like a five-star script,

bottles pop, moon walk, satellite shift—

T-Pain auto-tune the eclipse.

Ne-Yo in the velvet haze,

make the cosmos misbehave;

every star a strobe, every wish a slave.

We don’t chase sun, we invade—

hit the switch, let the Milky Way fade,

turn all the lights on, watch the universe get laid.

(Verse)

Shawty dipped low on the neon floor, bass slap got her jelly in a figure-four,

Apple-bottom orbit, got gravity in a chokehold,

Flo Rida pirate, I’m digging for that gold glow,

T-Pain autotune rocket, we moon-walk on chrome,

Hands up, cups up, sweat drip, never go home.

Apple-bottom jean drop, booty doin’ the salsa，

bass so low got the floor talkin’ gossip.

Neon in my cup, drip rainbow on my tonsils，

T-Pain auto-lick, make your speaker go fossil.

Money in a tornado, hundreds do ballet，

shorty bend it low till her Snapchat glitch, ayy.

I’m talkin’ subterranean, miles beneath the mosh pit，

when we hit that down-low everybody go atheist.