Lyrics:
you happy when your ass get rich
Blow my money 'cause a bag ain't shit
Got some troubles that these drugs can't fix
We might struggle because life's
platinum, can't go with Burberry it hurts since
A verse gets termed as the worst, but when immersed in your playlist
That shit plays first, rehearse all
of them shits bloody
New leather, the sweater you never can wear, judge me
Profiling, posted on the ave P in Polo
So silent, smoking on a bag of diesel
chick
Eagle droppings, fly shit, who gon' stop him
On the grind I am like a quarterback attackin'
Defensive linebackin' homie who gon' block 'em
enticing him
Limbs relaxed, but your music pop like a Vicodin
R.I.P. to the cd can't even play my hits
'Cause new computer shit without the means
Fuck it, store it in the floor conceal it in the ceiling
Park them cars behind my girls house tell her she ain't see shit
Nigga, we movin' like new
I was Eazy-E, I swore I was Tony Hawk
Marks getting jumped over colors, some real shit
Anyone fuck with us, we fuck him up real quick
Move to Covina
Go on, remember that shit you was kickin' off
Peace to my motherfuckin' nine
Yeah I remember that old shit
So are you gonna kick some of that
sellin' that cooked up 'caine bird
Is a key to a mothafuckin' G
bustin' caps in the mix back in 1983
So that's old school shit to me
I want to live
on the water
Wave to the trains
Passing by
Steamships and planes
May never stop here again
But I hope that I do
Sometime
If you're smokin' that shit
You'd
"easy back it up"
Yeah yeah yeah the Reel to Reel
"easy back it up"
Grand Puba, Stud Doogie, Alamo
"easy back it up"
Kid Capri flippin shit
Didn't give a shit about loads of that
But I did give a shit about getting locked up
Or get boxed up, sentenced you'll get about 4 for that
Crap, you ain't
It's shit like this I kick to these rich white kids
Who just might see how fucked up this sick life is
Whoops I did it again, didn't I?
My
Kind of hard to see att night in a house when it ain't got no lights and shit
No gas or water, had to borrow H20 from my relative
Man, it feels like I
blast, claimin' South East H-Town
Bakin' cakes stackin' hate makin' playahaters break down
If you're lookin' for an exit, cause Houston on the wreck shit
I'm the last great warrior of written lyric
You can move to Polo Club bitch you still ain't gettin near it
If its Bubba spittin fear it, this that shit
[Intro]
These niggaz don't know who the fuck they fuckin with man
On the real shit nigga, this is Thugline nigga
And I'm that nigga Mr. Sawed Off
Just to ig' my 2 way, ig' the shit in the streets
Just let me smoke this one cig in peace
Give me 10 minutes
Without y'all comin at me with that bull
have the zone call all red (all red)
We on a area shit as small as atoms can bust yo shit
that's we packs and make stacks now who you fucking with
(don't
Word 'em up this is how we do that shit.
Techs to your record son. Shit.
Fuck that shit.
Word 'em up that how we're always been.
Yo check it, I
on the wall
Before you talk some old muthafuckin' shit
Bitch, it's whatever nigga, we in this muthafucka
For the 9-9, 9's to your head ho
(Mafia, mafia,
I say what I say is what I mean
I talk mo shit than Muhammed Ali
In a situation about makin my green
First impression nigga back down
my money on hand
If you don't then you gon die where you stand
Surprise I'm never lettin' shit slide by
Nigga either you gon come correct or you die
might know him as pullin' rank
But we 'bout to do this shit
We layin' the beats down real thick
And I'm about to get nasty stupid with you funky hoes
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