Touchdown - Busta Rhymes, The Conglomerate

Word around town, I’m the man, nigga

Break that bitch down to the grams, nigga

Sixteen O’s in a pound nigga

Quarterback draw, touchdown, nigga

Touch, touch, touchdown, nigga

Touch, touch, touchdown, nigga

Touch, touch, touchdown, nigga

Next day air, no ground, nigga

Took a loss, had a nigga on slim fast

Now I’m moving weight, like gym class

Broke her down, every bag, like Sinbad

How I get this bread, mind your business

Set it on sight and I go half price

Dough got my bread, on your head, no lights

Wrap it up good, no smell, that’s right

Cut the box open, no Jordan, that’s flight

Shit look good, so I’m stacking numbers

Next morning, another tracking number

Looking for a bad bitch I can bust down

Tricking off, field go, I need a touchdown

Throw that shit like Peyton

Throw that shit like Peyton

Throw that shit like Peyton

Hurry up, I got these other niggas waiting

Send the shit over, tryna see bread

And if I say how I said it, Imma see face

Ain’t tryna get myself cold, nigga

When I throw the passes, it’s colt, nigga

Met a bitch at the club, I’m tryna see her

She could be my new wide receiver

No photo, we don’t play text

No smell, wrapped up, like safe sex

Fast life, no slow down, nigga

Move weight, like my car broke down, nigga

No rare thing good, no doubt

Long as niggas don’t run the wrong routes

Throw that shit like Peyton

Throw that shit like Peyton

Throw that shit like Peyton

Hurry up, I got these other niggas waiting