Lyrics:
Big Syke, Newt, Hank, Beugard, Big Sir
Y'all know how this shit go
All eyes on me
Motherfuckin' OG
Roll up in the club and shit, is that right?
on yourself
When you see me rollin in luxury
I won't fuck witchu, so don't fuck with me
I'm just ridin, sidin, whippin and dippin
I look at all the young hoes
12's in the trunk straight acting (okay)
That grey goose and pineapple got me acting bad
Pull up to the parking lot then drop the top them hoes like
don't really wanna be rude to you, sir
But fuck you mean I can't wear my hat in here?
And you got me fucked up, if you think I care, nigga
I hope you
she suck the dick alot
I'm fuckin wit y'all like Sir i'm in the mix alot
Singer* Background Singers*
Why'd you have to go and play yourself
Girl you
the dash pimpin hoes gettin money
I'm Too $hort baby been down since the eighties
For the last eight years rode around in a Mercedes
Lexus, trucks,
I'm doin' doughnuts, the homies go nuts
See when Dogg in the town, nigga, we turn up
Off that mothafuckin' E-4-O mango-scotto (yes sir)
Nigga, we sip
but then I be lying
But that's all in different baby
And pimpin' is me, hot boy Weezy-Wee what
I don't know why she's affectin' me
Or why this
To drive just as far as I need
He wants me back at any expense
He's got a lot more money than sense
Funny but now that I'm gone
They all wanna be
Want me to chose up
Betta switch up on ya pimpin
I need ya full attention
Open IG
Wanna see me in ya mention’s
Teach me da business
Control ya
to Stateville, they respectin' me like Jeff Fort
I'm one of them men beloved, yes, sir (yes, sir)
Upright and independent, that's us (yes, sir)
They just be
priceless nigga
You understand me? Either you wit us, or you ain't wit us
Either you in the huddle or ya out da huddle
Either you ride or pass and fly by
[E-40]
You got the beat turned up in my ear a little mo'?
(Aight) Let's go
Uhh, a little more volume pimp YEAH, okay
Just tell me when... yeah
hella keyed and I'm perkin' off that num-num juice
I'm in the traffic with my music on storm
Got a ticket just for blowin' my, horn
The real, pinkie
Snap ya fingers, do ya step
You can do it all by yourself (woo)
Baby girl, what's your name?
Let me talk to you, let me buy you a drink
I'm T-pain,
replicate authentically if it ain't for ya
You can't replicate authentically if yeen formed widdit
Lucky to be molded by it, but me, I was born in it
You
me the club rocka
I flo froppa, keep my goodies in a locka
Not a artist ya ca but I'm a shotta-vodka
Private stocker number 1 game talka
When I
you know my story i seen a lot of hoes
A lot of gold diggers luda call them pros
I don't call them back
And thats just how it goes
Most people call me
team's in the mix facin' a three-to-six
Cuz they got the DA believin' this shit
So we handcuffed in back of the bus for some dust
Life in Harlem World
the Mix-a-Lot
Bitches put 'em on the glass while
I'm puttin' stickers on they ass
I rule everything around me like cash
On the rocks of reality, dreams get
A ice tray up in my mouth, I'm lookin' somethin' like a chandelier
You can call me the ice man, I cause a blizzard every time I breathe
Posted up
a
Make you want to throw up
Mix a little bit a
With a molecule of a
Make me want to throw up
It makes me want to
Just makes me want to
Oh!
hustle, you ain't even in my league sir
What's up with these nerds?
They be out here, gettin' their salad's tossed, gettin' their leaves turned
The game
in God we trust
We won just this but a dick is in the dust
I'm stereotype so I fit the description
A nigga has the stigma for pushing or pimpin
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