Lyrics:
on the ropes nigga fuck the P.O.
I leave you dead with the bustas
Real niggas gone love us
We make crack with the killers and sell dope to the country
selling the P's
QP sell it with ease
I was selling to teens
Plug ain't catching the heat
Ain't go throw me in a cell I'm a teen
No telling on me
Then came
than you got
When you not, motherfuckers callin you a flop
I just laugh, the curse everybody want to have
Before you sell your soul better do the math
at the age of three
so don't ask me why i'm heartless son
cause I was raised by some killers
so i guess I gots to be one
I'm down for whatever
play by the rules, nah
Just cuz I got trouble cutting off my old hoes do that make me a hoarder
I was in trouble, plotting on how to make double, p's
sell yo' soul if you hit the pen
Regulation number 11, keep yo' hooptie hot and revin'
Regulation number 12, keep enough to pay your lawyer mail
(The
It is
Cuz I ain't stoppin' til I hit my peak
They tryna stay relevant
Sell they soul like every week
Who gave these niggas melatonin
Cuz they love
first kid
Teacher thought I wouldn't be shit, graduated in '06
Left the city in twenty ten, came back in twenty twelve
A&Rs thought I wouldn't sell now my
a fee
Why these niggas play with me? No, my niggas shoot up scenes
Gotta sell yo' soul to us, probably got yo' hoe with us
Feel like a diamond in
raise
I grab man and start squeezing his neck mate
Like three's you won't leave unless I
See ps by the next day heat in the next way
Heat in BE's and I
cause im paid(Im living like a hustler)
x4
[Girl]
Tom Cool and shit, watch you mean by fuck a bitch
[Master P]
What else should I say fuck a bitch
'em
I already blast 'em
My name is P (P) I'm from the D (D)
The area code (code) is 3-1-3 (3)
I run with Trick
(Trick) I (Kid) with Rock (Rock)
I love
Thursday, Friday, I got
Candy
Chorus I
[master p]
Uuuunnnngggghhhh! I smoke weed cause I'm a drug deala
I sell candy on the block fool, to make my fuckin
Another plane, another flight
Just a day in the life
Doing business in a 20 by 20
Three hundred and fifty
Days of going state to state
City to city
I know
lookin' at me like I sold ma soul
Cause I'm rappin' wit P and not mister Lee
But when ya on ya grind sometimes ya can't see
Before Mike Camo Paul
why the fuck should we care
About your marketing and distribution, we will start a revolution
Artists signing deals, sell their souls, it's legal
Yeah
We bringing trap back
Stuffed three p's inside my backpack
Prayin' til somebody hear me screamin
I don't know it's angels or it's demons
lights low and they movin' slow
They windows way down, layin' down, what they shootin' fo'
T.I.P., the West side Warrior
So you should know that
people know him by the name of, uh, Microphone Mike
But those of us who know him well call him Michael Troy Nine
Give it up, give it up
I wanna give
It was almost a year before she called him up
Three rings and an answering machine is what she got
If your callin' 'bout the car I sold it
If this
Bangin One5ive but surrounded by Cs & the rakes
I’m up that’s the reason they hate
We gone bust down the P till it turn into shake
Sell dat cus i need
On my soul I'm finna go an grab that check
Once I get it I'ma shoot it off the back
Board, sink it, lord bet I make it shake
Then go for a three peat
by the mundanity, these contests of popularity
What a grotesque society
It's the P-Ville to N.Y. drill, we keep it shy
Been pouring my soul in
bye
Now yall gon miss me (If I let lil woedee kill me) Repeat 3x
I live by the trigger so I die by the trigger
Yall gon miss me (If I let lil woedee
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