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Bottoms Up Lyrics


Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, every single cup
Got a couple bottles, but a couple ain't enough
Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, throw your hands up
Tell security we 'bout to tear this club up
Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, pocket full of green
Girl, you know I love the way you shake it in them jeans
Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, throw your hands up
Bottoms up, bottoms up, bottoms up
You know what it is, girl, we back up in this thing
Money stay in my pocket, girl, I'm like a walking bank
Tell me what you drink, tell me what you think
If I go get these bottles we go alcohol insane
Callin' all the girls, do you hear me?
All around the world, city to city
Cheers to the girls, more juice to the guys, now I got a chicken and a goose in the ride
Gettin' loose in the ride, hatin'-ass nigga you can move to the, move to the, move to the side
Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, every single cup
Got a couple bottles, but a couple ain't enough

Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, throw your hands up
Tell security we 'bout to tear this club up
Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, pocket full of green
Girl, you know I love the way you shake it in them jeans
Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, throw your hands up
Bottoms up, bottoms up, bottoms up
My vision's blurred, my word's slurred
It's jammed packed, a million girls
And I ain't tryin' to leave though
We drunk so let's get B-yo, alcohol hero
Callin' all the girls, do you hear me?
All around the world, city to city
Cheers to the girls, more juice to the guys, now I got a chicken and a goose in the ride
Gettin' loose in the ride, hatin'-ass nigga you can move to the, move to the, move to the side
Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, every single cup
Got a couple bottles, but a couple ain't enough
Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, throw your hands up
Tell security we 'bout to tear this club up
Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, pocket full of green
Girl, you know I love the way you shake it in them jeans
Bottoms up, bottoms up, up, throw your hands up
Bottoms up, bottoms up, bottoms up
Can I get that 'Tron, can I get that Remy?
Can I get that coke, can I get that Henny?
Can I get that margarita on the rock, rock, rocks?
Can I get salt all around that rim, rim, rim, rim?
Trey, I was like yo', Trey
Do you think you could buy me
A bottle of Ros

Enjoy the lyrics !!!

What do you call a female Brooklyn songwriter with a smarmy, witty lyrical edge, a band that plays as if they'd just stepped out of the Brill Building, and a voice that's got the squeaky charm of Gwen Stefani's? Howabout: the next Lily Allen.
“I was the surprise,” says April Smith, the bonus baby her parents won late and whose moxie and dash astounded everyone she met. Today, she remains a welcome bolt: a loose-lipped, cocked-hip gal whose music and mien could buoy the Titanic.

Read more about April Smith and The Great Picture Show on Last.fm.


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April Smith And The Great Picture Show