Playboy 2 - Lyrics - Rotten Apple - Lloyd Banks

Title: Playboy 2
Album: Rotten Apple
Artist: Lloyd Banks
Composer(s): Christopher Charle Lloyd, Rondell Edwin Turner

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Uh, two figures up, yup, Henny in my cup, yup
Semi in the cut, yup, a very nice truck, yup
I'm all iced up, yup, pocket k***** up, yup
I knock your wife up, yup, man, I don't give a f***, nah

The Unit's in this b****, yeah , you know who I'm with, yeah
Rolling out the piff, yeah, six after six, yeah
Hangin' out the whips rocks dangling off my wrist, yeah
I'm a ball till I die, why? 'Cause I'm a Play B O Y

Guess who's the man this quarter, the rich playing the boarder
Your papers much shorter, my safe is this big
Not from New York to Georgia, they recognize the slaughter
Diamonds around the boarder, a platin' 'em ice pick

We in them Lambs the color of Candy Yams
The only n****z in the city with Miami tints
I picked up my advance and took off out to France
Thousand dollar pants and hundred thousand dollar hands

Mummy I don't dance, I rock, I bop
I half a ounce of s***** in my sock, I'm hot
If I like it I'm a cop it on the spot, why not?
These haters still won't give me my props, I'm shocked

I do it for the concrete, the curb, the block
All I got is the street, my word, my c***
These little n****z emulating' me know why?
Know why, know why? 'Cause I'm a Play B O Y

Uh, two figures up, yup, Henny in my cup, yup
Semi in the cut, yup, a very nice truck, yup
I'm all iced up, yup, pocket k***** up, yup
I knock your wife up, yup, man I don't give a f***, nah

The Unit's in this b****, yeah, you know who I'm with, yeah
Rolling out the piff, yeah, six after six, yeah
Hanging out the whips rocks dangling off my wrist, yeah
I'm a ball till I die, why? 'Cause I'm a Play B O Y

Hey, pull up in a Benz, hoodie and my Timbs
Hologram rims, a lot of Benjamin's
I shop till I drop, I stunt when I want
Rollin' b**** after b****, blowin' b'emp out the trunk

Now I can take a s*** on all of y'all, d'emp after d'emp
I'm high and I'm drunk, havin' lunch at the trunk
Don't front and get to rockin', and my click is popping
Now my hits is dropping that's why the chickens flocking

I ain't a come up, I got the Louis black
Hydraulics on the 'Lac, I pop and whoolie that
Now we got enough toys to knock the city back
Beef and broccoli fitted cap, he's the rockiest in rap

They copyin' my moves I cruise on twenty-two's
Big pools, money and jewels, that's all I never do is
The illest never one at a time, just by the two's
And ooh, you should see what my song make them do

Uh, two figures up, yup, Henny in my cup, yup
Semi in the cut, yup, a very nice truck, yup
I'm all iced up, yup, pocket k***** up, yup
I knock your wife up, yup, man I don't give a f***, nah

The Unit's in this b****, yeah, you know who I'm with, yeah
Rolling out the piff, yeah, six after six, yeah
Hanging out the whips rocks dangling off my wrist, yeah
I'm a ball till I die, why? 'Cause I'm a Play B O Y

If you come from the bottom put your hands up
The hood f*** up the rap then put your hands up
You and your click get it popping' put your hands up
And if you front I'm leaving' out of there in handcuffs

Now put 'em up, put 'em up
Put 'em up, put 'em up
Put 'em up, put 'em up
Yeah, man I don't give a f*** what you said

Now put 'em up, put 'em up
Put 'em up, put 'em up
Put 'em up, put 'em up

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dab6502c0544003946d74e1db8ea6500

My Fo Fo - Lyrics - All or Nothing - Fat Joe

Title: My Fo Fo
Album: All or Nothing
Artist: Fat Joe
Composer(s): Andre Christopher Lyon, J Barbera, H Curtin, J Cartagena, Marcello Valenzano, W Hanna

Lyric:
Yeah that'll do it, yeah, I love hip hop
I love this motherfuckin' hip hop game
This nigga here is a little nigga, man
Stay in your motherfuckin' lane, nigga
You fuckin' with a Don, nigga, Crack, follow me

Fifty, meet Fifty, he's the fakest have you ever seen?
Curtis, Curtis Jackson
How come you can never ever be seen?

(Once I got you, I'ma give you my)
My, my fo fo fo fo fo
My, my fo fo fo fo fo, my, my fo fo fo fo fo
I'ma give it to you, baby, nice and slow

Fifty, you gon' end up dead when you fuckin' with Crack
Talkin' about you gon' pop off, where the fuck you be at?
Cook, I see MJ in the hood more than Curtis
Matter fact, this beef shit is making niggaz nervous

It's gonna be families grieving every Sunday service
End up with your head popped off, thanks to Curtis
But he don't care, he stay locked up in the house an' shit
Steroid up and he won't come about that bitch

Is it me or 'Candy Shop' sound like 'Magic Stick'?
In the video, this nigga Fifty 'bout to strip
Shakin' his ass, what the fuck is wrong with this nigga?
Fifty, don't make me

Oh yeah, you got sixty-five niggaz on your team
And they're not from Southside, Jamaica, Queens
They're the boys in blue, I'm just speakin' the truth
Now we all see the bitch in you, follow me, nigga

Fifty, meet Fifty, he's the fakest have you ever seen?
Curtis, Curtis Jackson
How come you can never ever be seen?

(Once I got you, I'ma give you my)
My, my fo fo fo fo fo
My, my fo fo fo fo fo, my, my fo fo fo fo fo
I'ma give it to you, baby, nice and slow

Now, let's take it back to the Vibe awards
Where that nigga disrespect and then snuffed your boss
Minute ago, all I heard was G-G-G-Unit
Fifty niggaz ran and they didn't even do shit

That's a shame, I was sittin' right in the front
Waitin' for you niggaz to dump
Where all thug guns and them Teflon vests-es?
We them Terror Squad boys, you should know not to test us

'Hate it or Love It,' The Game's on top
Now you jealous of him, when your shit gon' stop?
You 'CB4,' youse a bitch nigga 'Straight Outta Locash'
L.A. don't believe him, this nigga is so ass

You dissed 'Lean Back,' said my shit was a dud
Now tell me have you ever seen 'em up in the club?
Nope, nope, no shawty that's right
You singin' more than you rappin' now Fifty that ain't right

Fifty, meet Fifty, he's the fakest have you ever seen?
Curtis, Curtis Jackson
How come you can never ever be seen?

(Once I got you, I'ma give you my)
My, my fo fo fo fo fo
My, my fo fo fo fo fo, my, my fo fo fo fo fo
I'ma give it to you, baby, nice and slow

New York, I know what y'all thinkin', man
Y'all thinkin' Jada gon' slay him lyrically
This nigga be crazy for dissin'
Fat Joe man, he really crazy though

This nigga be walkin' around with
Twenty cops talkin' shit on records
Never comin' out his house
Feel like he can't get touched, man

I respond one time, one time only
It ain't gon' be no more songs from me, man
And this for all the muh'fuckers
Who doubted Crack man

Trust me, nigga could response ten thousand times
I ain't talkin' back to that nigga
The one thing I will promise you

If I want get you I'm gon' get you
And that's it, man, it's Crack, bitch
It's gon' be a real ugly summer, man

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897bdad8c34211f5e09db4fa84f08339

Sock It 2 Me (Dirty Version) - Lyrics - Missy Elliott

Title: Sock It 2 Me (Dirty Version)
Artist: Missy Elliott
Composer(s): Melissa Elliott, Timothy Z Mosley, William Alexander Hart, Shawntae Harris, Thom Bell

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Nigger, yeah
[Incomprehensible]
Do it, do it
Do it, do it
[Incomprehensible]
No

I was lookin' for affection so I decided to go
Swing that up in my direction I'll be outta control
Let's take it to perfection, just you and me
Let's see if you can bring, bring, bring the nasty out of me
Len, Len, Len, sock it

Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
All you gotta say is where Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow

I'm at your house around midnight, don't fall asleep
It'll just be me, me, me on a late night creep
I'ma show you things that you can't believe
Jump in this B E D and won't you sock it 2 me

Soc-soc-sock to me
Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
And all you gotta say is where Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow

Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
And all you gotta say is Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
And all you gotta say is where Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow

Why Missy be sockin' it to niggaz like Re Re
The baddest industry bitches of the century
Hit hard like Penitentury did
Finally admitted that we the shit combination on this lethal
Poppin' patron with Missy in the 600 with no see through
Suffer the repercussion, fuckin' with shit like this
We call it puffing constantly makin' niggas suffer the consequence
Gotta' get them ends bitch
House in the Chi with a Candy in Atlanta with a Benz
Niggaz been huffin' and puffin' but ain't try shit
Got cream motherfuckers steady ride quick

Besides kids wanna bust
But you shouldn't forget ends when you fuckin' with me
Jealous 'cause I live more flushed
Me and Missy been livin' with a headrush
Bring the ruckest plus
I'm peddling and pushing, picking up profits
For what I'm sellin', never gonna stop it
Sockin' it to niggaz, they rockin' it, droppin' 'em on the spot
Heat up in the block around the shop
Knockin' you off of your socks
Guaranteed platinum, watch two of the coldest bitches get hot

I be the B R A T, her be Missy
We the bad bitches who be fuckin' it up
I be the B R A T, her be Missy
We the bad bitches who be fuckin' it up

I'm yo' nigga for life, baby
Listen to ya we drive all these motherfuckers crazy
You know what I'm sayin', yeah Timbaland
I see you baby, I feel you
Sock it to 'em goddamnit
It's 9-7, this the motherfuckin' bitch era
What y'all niggaz wanna do
The rat-tat-tat on that ass once more
I'm out the door motherfucker, yeah

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af9f32bee4b0e09020df05925c964558

Sock It To Me - Lyrics - Supa Dupa Fly - Missy Elliott

Title: Sock It To Me
Album: Supa Dupa Fly
Artist: Missy Elliott
Composer(s): Melissa Elliott, Timothy Z Mosley, William Alexander Hart, Shawntae Harris, Thom Bell

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Nigger, yeah
[Incomprehensible]
Do it, do it
Do it, do it
[Incomprehensible]
No

I was lookin' for affection so I decided to go
Swing that up in my direction I'll be outta control
Let's take it to perfection, just you and me
Let's see if you can bring, bring, bring the nasty out of me
Len, Len, Len, sock it

Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
All you gotta say is where Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow

I'm at your house around midnight, don't fall asleep
It'll just be me, me, me on a late night creep
I'ma show you things that you can't believe
Jump in this B E D and won't you sock it 2 me

Soc-soc-sock to me
Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
And all you gotta say is where Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow

Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
And all you gotta say is Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
And all you gotta say is where Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow

Why Missy be sockin' it to niggaz like Re Re
The baddest industry bitches of the century
Hit hard like Penitentury did
Finally admitted that we the shit combination on this lethal
Poppin' patron with Missy in the 600 with no see through
Suffer the repercussion, fuckin' with shit like this
We call it puffing constantly makin' niggas suffer the consequence
Gotta' get them ends bitch
House in the Chi with a Candy in Atlanta with a Benz
Niggaz been huffin' and puffin' but ain't try shit
Got cream motherfuckers steady ride quick

Besides kids wanna bust
But you shouldn't forget ends when you fuckin' with me
Jealous 'cause I live more flushed
Me and Missy been livin' with a headrush
Bring the ruckest plus
I'm peddling and pushing, picking up profits
For what I'm sellin', never gonna stop it
Sockin' it to niggaz, they rockin' it, droppin' 'em on the spot
Heat up in the block around the shop
Knockin' you off of your socks
Guaranteed platinum, watch two of the coldest bitches get hot

I be the B R A T, her be Missy
We the bad bitches who be fuckin' it up
I be the B R A T, her be Missy
We the bad bitches who be fuckin' it up

I'm yo' nigga for life, baby
Listen to ya we drive all these motherfuckers crazy
You know what I'm sayin', yeah Timbaland
I see you baby, I feel you
Sock it to 'em goddamnit
It's 9-7, this the motherfuckin' bitch era
What y'all niggaz wanna do
The rat-tat-tat on that ass once more
I'm out the door motherfucker, yeah

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32379f7171a56dd1a22f52d842c2dae4

Project Dreamz - Lyrics - 613: Ashy to Classy - Field Mob

Title: Project Dreamz
Album: 613: Ashy to Classy
Artist: Field Mob
Composer(s): Shawn Johnson, Darion Crawford, Emanuel Anderson, Amin Anwar Miller

Lyric:
Rent thirty days late, gotta be gone by Saturday
Tired of sellin' cocaine, folks tryna trap me
Every night dreamin 'bout livin' life lavish
A watch full of karats, a candy coated Caddy

Off the show flo', sittin' on fo' Vogues
Oak wood gear shift, steer and dash door
Choppin' on seventeen inch Indies
Bling bling from my mouth to my pinky

Enough about my jewelry, grill and my Fleetwood
Financially stable so my folks can eat good
House sittin' out on the hill to sleep good
Livin' peaceful just like we should

Money legal, no more sellin' reefer
No more feds tryna stick me like a needle
When it's cold outdo's come in I heat ya
You ain't gotta walk in the sun, I A.C. ya

Don't worry 'bout that burglar comin' to creep ya
He trapped by alarms and the millimeter
I'm a do or die ol' playa for my people
Follow a leader I'm my brotha's keeper, for real

I'ma have me a big nice Caddy
House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy
Live life happy and I'm still nappy
Makin' legal money, no feds tryna trap me

I'ma have me a big nice Caddy
House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy
Live life happy and I'm still nappy
Nigga, legal money, no feds tryna trap me

If you ever been broke put your hands up
You been broke put your hands up, put your hands up
You ever been broke put your hands up
You been broke put your hands up, put 'em up

What ya know 'bout havin no dough, no coat for the winter?
Remember, we poor folk
Most cut yolk and smoke 'ports, cut throats and ya dope hoe
Talk about they wanna 'Lac with four do's, no Vogues

Wood kit and Momo's, outfits- Polo, pockets- so swole
Jenny Craig called- Escalade hog in the yard
Breakin' off ya folks too, belly full of soul food
Chitt'lins, greens, pork chops, green beens

Yeah, I pray for that, each and every day I rap
I rap with God 'cause I feel you ain't really safe with gats
We escape slacks but government helped in welfare
My folk cries to the law and ain't no help there

We ain't had much, the less to brag about but mo' to lose
I ran the street, Mama told me go to school
But now I got a chance to change thangs and maintain
Mo' so, I ain't gotta slang 'caine no mo'

Hell yeah boy, if you really understand dirt
Well, I'ma rap and you gon' clap until your hands hurt
I ain't the only person feel like I feel, gotta live like I live
And wanna chill, for real

I'ma have me a big nice Caddy
House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy
Live life happy and I'm still nappy
Makin' legal money, no feds tryna trap me

I'ma have me a big nice Caddy
House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy
Live life happy and I'm still nappy
Nigga, legal money, no feds tryna trap me

If you ever been broke put your hands up
You been broke put your hands up, put your hands up
You ever been broke put your hands up
You been broke put your hands up, put 'em up

Now, put your hands up if you're broke folks tried [Incomprehensible]
But y'all ate free lunch and you never had [Incomprehensible]
Put ya hands up, if you feel my hurt
Have you ever bathed with soap the size of a Cert?

Don't disguise the dirt then 'cause we all know rocks
It's the real reason furniture go to the pawn shop
'Cause ya crackhead 'cuz smokin' the car antennas
I understand see, it's a junkie in every family

'Member hand-me-down, tight pants, lookin' slim in 'em
If they too big, what you do? Put a hem in 'em
'Member talkin' over the loud sounds when the wind blow
'Cause the trash bag's replacin' yo' car window
Man, I been po', I been poor, we been po'
That's how it is in the Field, for real

I'ma have me a big nice Caddy
House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy
Live life happy and I'm still nappy
Makin' legal money, no feds tryna trap me

I'ma have me a big nice Caddy
House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy
Live life happy and I'm still nappy
Nigga, legal money, no feds tryna trap me

If you ever been broke put your hands up
You been broke put your hands up, put your hands up
You ever been broke put your hands up
You been broke put your hands up, put 'em up

I'ma have me a big nice Caddy
House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy
Live life happy and I'm still nappy
Makin' legal money, no feds tryna trap me

I'ma have me a big nice Caddy
House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy
Live life happy and I'm still nappy
Nigga, legal money, no feds tryna trap me

If you ever been broke put your hands up
You been broke put your hands up, put your hands up
You ever been broke put your hands up
You been broke put your hands up, put 'em up

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4792985e94d1dd6b6be1b32c24f71ece

Vickie Vance Gotta Dance - Lyrics - Mark Chesnutt

Title: Vickie Vance Gotta Dance
Artist: Mark Chesnutt
Composer(s): Bill Kenner, Mark Wright

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Spinnin? those curlers round all day
Her little beauty shop provides a way
To work at home and sleep in late
So she can dance the night away

Pilot gotta fly, eagle gotta soar
Give a baby candy, gotta give it more
Cowboy gotta ride, gambler gotta chance
And Vickie Vance gotta dance
Yeah, Vickie Vance gotta dance

And she can be dancin? to nothin? at all
And she does a mean swing with the shadows on the wall
Yeah, and I bet she?s done the two step a million times
Yeah, she drives all the boys on the dance floor wild

Pilot gotta fly, eagle gotta soar
Give a baby candy, gotta give it more
Cowboy gotta ride, gambler gotta chance
And Vickie Vance gotta dance
Yeah, Vickie Vance gotta dance

Ooh, she can?t stand still
Yeah, she?s dancin? off the wall
Dancin? on the window sill

Yeah, pilot gotta fly, eagle gotta soar
Give a baby candy, gotta give it more
Cowboy gotta ride, gambler gotta chance
And Vickie Vance gotta dance
Baby, Vickie Vance gotta dance
Yeah, Vickie Vance gotta dance

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0ac8eccabf3202be74cdcbf360130c85

Wanna Be A Balla - Lyrics - Lil' Troy

Title: Wanna Be A Balla
Artist: Lil' Troy
Composer(s): Willie Anserson, Troy Birklett, Hawk T Prejean, Bruce Isaac Rhodes, Yungsta

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Wanna be a balla, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike

I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah ay

I'm a baller, I'ma twenty inch crawler
Blades on Impala, diamond Rottweiler
I-10 hauler, not a leader, not follower
Break these boys off, I'm a twenty inch crawler

Bust a left, a right, I'm outta sight, I'm throwed
I'm bouncin off the road, I'm in a modem with them fo' dem
Tiny tune, hop out my big body form
Chain with the Chong, can't forget Moet along

I'm hot, find me lookin' good, diamonds against my wood
Man, it's understood, got money in my hood
I'm pushing, big body can't stop me
For the nine eight got to sell a million copy

I'ma crawl slow puffin' on the Optimo, hit the sto'
I'ma go real slow, puffin indo out the do'
I'ma lit the stash green, man I'm lookin' clean
Want remote control screens with ice bezeltynes

Wanna be a balla, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike

I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah ay

Big ballin', smashin', makin' my ends
Smokin' big killa, gettin' high in the Benz
Big ballin', smashin', makin' my ends
Smokin' big killa, gettin' high in the Benz

In the wind, smoke goes as I crawl down on Vogues
Twenty Lorenzo, smoke all up in my nose
Yo' eyes, get froze, as you see my low
Candy red, two do', let my top down slow

Hittin' my remote, sittin' in my shit
Presidential V-12 with that AMG kit
It don't quit, as I get high
From K.C. to H-Town, connectin' SouthSide

Now we worldwide, watch me high side
Fat Pat blowin' killa, can't be denied
187 thugs, oh yeah, we got love
Blowin' sticky green we flow through and above

Wanna be a balla, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike

I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah ay

Sittin' fat down south, rollin' Benz on blocks
Mo' scrilla I got, signin' with Shortstop
And that's for real, so tell me how you feel
To make a million dollars out my first record deal

Shortstop, puttin' up your motherfuckin' ear
Really really don't give a fuck and I ain't drinkin' on no beer
Codeine what I sip, pistol grip when I ride
Trunk hit fo' life, baby, it's SouthSide

We on a fuckin' mission, Expedition Navigator
That's how we be ridin', alligator suitcasin'
Puttin' it in your face and that's for real
Shinin' harder than the grill, it's the player Lil' Will

Down with the 2-Low, Yungstar be a thug
So nigga, nigga what? I'm down with Mo'Thugs
Mo'Thugs an' da Bone, you know it's goin' down
Represent that H-Town, pop trunks surround by sound

Wanna be a balla, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike

I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah ay

I gots to get better, man, it gots to move on
Switched from Motorola to a PrimeCo phone
Broke in two chrome, now you know no dope pigeon
Used to count my spoke, now these hoes count my inches

Had to get older, man, it got colder
I done got grown and got a chip on my shoulder
Licks in Kuwait, got links in Pakistan
Boys don't understand virtual reality Caravan

Double doors, marble floors, naked hoes around me
Every time I'm comin' out, niggaz they wanna sign me
Got the Lil' Will diamond grillers [unverified]
Blaze in the Benz and you can't forget Den-Den

Boobie diamond rubies, I'm watchin' on a movie
Drop the top, it's cotton, and you know I'm in a Jacuzzi
Bourbon and I'm swervin', man, it's getting' hot
My last name Lemmon, drive my tight'um off the lot, David Taylor

Wanna be a balla, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike

I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah ay

I hit the highway, everything's my way, I parlay
Everyday all day, ain't no way
Boys can't stop as I slide through your neighborhood
Chop, chop, chop, headed straight to the top
I only play to win, 'bout to close up shop

Showstoppin' dead end, pimp the pen once again
Peep the message I send
Take these levels that you devils can't comprehend
Big 'bout it Benz as I floss through the south
Big blue lens now whatcha talkin' about?

Close yo' mouth as I settle all scores
Scream and shout my similes and metaphors
Mansion doors, I constantly close
All you hoes, go and take off your clothes
Lord knows, ain't no time to play
Commence to fuckin' and a suckin' on the H.A.W.K.

Wanna be a balla, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike

I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah ay

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9b99115e5382e7eb633328c1024e37ef

Yellow Brick Road - Lyrics - Luniz

Title: Yellow Brick Road
Artist: Luniz
Composer(s): Jerold Jr Ellis, Joseph Johnson, Garrick Husband

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Eh, eh, eh, yo mama got a long ass throat, when she drink milk
By the time it get to her stomach it's spoiled
Where you get that cream from man?
The ice cream man, man, that nigga ain't no muthafuckin' joke

Hold on, hold on, close the blinds, 'cause
'Cause the neighbors are lookin'
What? Nigga let's get busy man, I'm ready to hit this big shit man
You know what I'm sayin', this is big, big
Get that kid outta here

Whoa, the kids, man get the kids outta here
Close the door, 'cause they gonna tell on us
Eh, I'm blazin' this up fo tha ice cream man nigga
Uh, uh, uh, yeah

It's the ice cream man
Bitch don't you hear the music
I got the shit fiends holla if you wanna use it

It's the ice cream man
Bitch don't you hear the music
I got the shit fiends holla if you wanna use it

This shit is to be to let go, so welcome to the ghetto
Got no love from my moms an pops
Had to creep an caulk heat wit my fellows

Niggaz from the Big O, always down to scuffle
Had the hustle from the get go
An' didn't no, body, give a fuck about Jerold
Not when I had hella dirt an lint in my dried up ass curl

Hit the dice game, hurled off the night train
So hang that four-fifth at my brain
If you want me to do the right thang
Ever since my eyes open, I musta really sell dope in

The 6-9 Village of East Oakland, hopin', my dad would come back
But that fool vamp, now my mama spend the checks
On woozy's an the food stamps

That's why my ass was pumpin' gas, an shootin' craps
So I can make me some rootin'-tootin' scratch
No dap from the school hoes, now why did I cut school
Fuck school, 'cause me didn't have no school clothes

I had to go, hook up, a book up, now I'm a crook up
On the late night posted, slangin' cakes like Hostess
Sumthin' ferocious, mo candy than Reese Pieces
Fo human species, that wanna swap fo TVs an VCs

I'm ready, like Heav D, nuttin' but love fo ya
Fedi dubbs fo ya, the only nigga would glove fo ya
It's me, the ice creamery
So weasel down the Yellow Brick Road while I fold the greenery

It's the ice cream man
Bitch don't you hear the music
I got the shit fiends holla if you wanna use it

It's the ice cream man
Bitch don't you hear the music
I got the shit fiends holla if you wanna use it

You wonder why, I became the ice cream man
'Cause I knocked straight hands
But niggaz on my block didn't understand
That I was born to be a factor

If roses what I play, to get paid, then don't fade
But first give a nigga props, fo ditchin' cops
I couldn't work, so I knew a nigga couldn't stop

Slangin' mo yay than the next man
If I come up, don't get mad
Just give a pound to let the best stand

'Cause I done tried gettin' twenty off a note
I been there, slangin' fo the next nigga still broke
He flippin' shit, but you ain't, you fuck around an crumble
Then you come up short on yo bundle

An plus the dope fiends be gafflin', rolled out all yo scratch
You broke, so you whips up a dangle batch
To get enough to cop a zip, I'm stackin' up my grip
Got my 380 out so I don't slip

I need some real folks to come up, niggaz wit some guts
Plots an set up shop, wit Dru an Yuk
My lick mates, 100 percent hustlaz, games an heists
Quick to lick a niggaz house on bikes

Twice the game, bigga the endin', endin' rules
Much shit, an tucked tens is what I'm sendin' fools
I goes through all shit, to lick a ball bitch
To law shit, and then I'm off wit the Lootchie

My game is ready to be sold
I got my stripes fo followin' the Yellow Brick Road

It's the ice cream man
Bitch don't you hear the music
I got the shit fiends holla if you wanna use it

It's the ice cream man
Bitch don't you hear the music
I got the shit fiends holla if you wanna use it

Now I'm the ice cream man, bitch
Don't you see the man sittin' on gold ones
Dishin' off half, zips, an whole ones, no one
Could stop the Operation Stackola
A black soldier slangin' crack only fo scratchola

I told ya, I do it to fold ya, straight over nighter
Then flag the driver down wit my flash lighter
He speak, "Please G, please don't say no to me
Fo the cream, I dream, I fiend like Jodeci"

Notice he had a G ready to spend it, splendid
Got my shit so I won't get apprehended
Once again it's on, I gets my bail on
Weasel down the Yellow Brick Road wit hoes an my mail on

I chops cream, seems like the whole block is holdin' now
Broke my triple beam, 'cause the whole scene is rollin' now
Hope I can get to break it down an hold thangs, wit my luck
Num an Yuk, wit gold thangs on the ice cream truck

Nut up wit nuthin's, stroll down the Yellow Brick Road
Quick to lick fo some paper to fold, stole my whole load
What you want a nigga to get hurt fo?
My operation don't include spendin' on the turf hoe

The quickest nigga to finish, I cruise some
Can't be too dumb, sewed up the block, where you from?
So float on, an roll on, an understand, easin' down the road
It's the ice cream man

It's the ice cream man
Bitch don't you hear the music
I got the shit fiends holla if you wanna use it

It's the ice cream man
Bitch don't you hear the music
I got the shit fiends holla if you wanna use it

It's the ice cream man
Biatch

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08b9175ceeaca8c6ac5d4f37a938284d

Who'S Ya Daddy - Lyrics - Reality Check - Juvenile

Title: Who'S Ya Daddy
Album: Reality Check
Artist: Juvenile
Composer(s): Terrance Freeman, Teruis Gray

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Girl, you're lookin' like a '4 dropped low to the ground
Ooh, I like it when you shake it up and swing it around
Don't stop, ooh, you servin' it now
Have a nigga lookin' for you, searchin' around

I tried to pass you up but you're lookin' so hot
Got my dick gettin' stiffer than a robot
You not lookin' concerned about what a hoe got
You just layin' it down right there in yo' spot

When you pass a nigga, come to a slow stop
Wonderin' how I'm lookin' when the clothes drop
Fresh out of the fingernail and toe shop
Lookin' real, I gotta get her when the hoe pop

She got a shape, ain't nothin' fake, she in the race
Her pretty face, I'd give her a 7 or 8 or maybe 9 if she really fine
Side and behind with a lady mind
Diamonds, she genuine

Let your hair down, girl, you already know
When I grab ya ass, I ain't gonna let it go
Ooh, I'm the shit and you the poo poo
Let a nigga fuck you with that uptown voodoo

You my lil' mamma mia and you already know
Who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, hoe?
You my lil' mamma mia and you already know
Who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy hoe?

Your big, fine, don't be scared, put your hands up
Give me a minute, you ain't gotta give your man up
In a relationship, I understand and what?
He ain't focusin' right now, so we can fuck

Move, shake, bounce, pop
Pancake it, pull it over at the bus stop
Swing it back around, stop it there and make it wiggle
Put it in reverse and back it up just a little

It ain't your birthday, nope, it ain't your birthday
But I'ma treat you like that, if you can serve me
Girl, you a stallion, let me take you to the derby
I bet a hundred that you gon' be up in first place

Pose, move, stop, walk
Shit, I think you more finer than the block talk
Ladies, put your hands up if you need to get dropped off
Up even higher if you wanna leave in my car

Let your hair down girl, you already know
When I grab ya ass I ain't gonna let it go
Ooh, I'm the shit and you the poo poo
Let a nigga fuck you with that uptown voo-doo

You my lil' mamma mia and you already know
Who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, hoe?
You my lil' mamma mia and you already know
Who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, hoe?

Like it when you be dressin' all fancy
And your lips be lookin' like candy
Come here and get you a sip of this brandy
Let me think a size off of what I can see

You musta been eatin' by grannies
'Cause that ass lookin' phat in them panties
Tryin' to treat you like one of my family
And I won't be actin' like your man be

I'm the shit lil' mama, just chance me
'Cause you're lookin' at a more advanced me
Now drop it and pop it and shake it like a dog
Look back at a gangsta when you're catchin' the wall

Let your hair down, girl, you already know
When I grab ya ass, I ain't gonna let it go
Ooh, I'm the shit and you the poo poo
Let a nigga fuck you with that uptown voo-doo

You my lil' mamma mia and you already know
Who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, hoe?
You my lil' mamma mia and you already know
Who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, who's ya daddy, hoe?

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cb1f9766a39dcb8b87d70104a4ef2d3d

Wanna Be A Baller - Lyrics - Sittin' Fat Down South - Lil' Troy

Title: Wanna Be A Baller
Album: Sittin' Fat Down South
Artist: Lil' Troy
Composer(s): Troy Birklett, T Prejean, Yungstar Willie Anserson, Hawk Bruce Isaac Rhodes

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Wanna be a baller, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike
I hit the highway, making money then fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah

I'ma baller, I'ma twenty inch crawler
Blades on Impala, diamond rottweiller
I, 10 hauler, not a leader not follower
Break these boys off I'ma twenty inch crawler

Bust a left, a right, I'm outta sight, I'm throwed
I'm bouncin' off the road, I'm in a modem with them foe dem
Tiny tune hop out my big body form chain
With the Chong, can't forget Moet along

I'm hot, find me lookin' good, diamonds against my wood
Man it's understood got money in my hood
I'm pushing, big body can't stop me
For the nine, eight got to sell a million copy

I'ma crawl slow puffin' on the Optimo hit the sto'
I'ma go real slow puffin' indo out the do'
I'ma lit the stash green, man, I'm lookin' clean
Want remote control screens with ice bezeltynes

Wanna be a baller, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike
I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah

Big ballin', smashin', makin' my ends
Smokin' big killa, gettin' high in the Benz
Big ballin', smashin', makin' my ends
Smokin' big killa, gettin' high in the Benz

In the wind smoke goes as I crawl down on Vogues
Twenty Lorenzo, smoke all up in my nose
Yo eyes, get froze, as you see my low
Candy red, two-do', let my top down slow

Hittin', my remote, sittin', in my shit
Presidential V-12 with that AMG kit
It don't quit, as I get high
From K.C. to H-Town, connectin' South Side

Now we worldwide, watch me high side
Fat Pat blowin' killa, can't be denied
187 thugs, oh yeah, we got love
Blowin' sticky green we flow through and above

Wanna be a baller, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike
I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah

Sittin' Fat Down South, rollin' Benz on blocks
Mo' scrilla I got, signin' with Shortstop
And that's for real, so tell me how you feel
To make a million dollars out my first record deal

Shortstop puttin' up your motherfuckin' ear
Really, really don't give a fuck and I ain't drinkin' on no beer
Codeine what I sip, pistol grip when I ride
Trunk hit fo' life baby it's South Side

We on a fuckin' mission Expedition Navigator
That's how we be ridin', alligator suitcasin'
Puttin' it in your face and that's for real
Shinin' harder than the grill it's the player Lil' Will

Down with the 2-Low, Yungstar be a thug
So nigga, nigga what? I'm down with Mo'Thugs
Mo'Thugs an' da Bone, you know it's goin' down
Represent that H-Town, pop trunks surround by sound

Wanna be a baller, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike
I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah

I gots to get better man, it gots to move on
Switched from Motorola to a PrimeCo phone
Broke in two chrome, now you know no dope pigeon
Used to count my spoke, now these hoes count my inches

Had to get older, man, it got colder
I done got grown and got a chip on my shoulder
Licks in Kuwait, got links in Pakistan
Boys don't understand virtual reality Caravan

Double doors, marble floors, naked hoes around me
Every time I'm comin' out, niggaz they wanna sign me
Got the Lil' Will diamond griller's [unverified]
Blaze in the Benz and you can't forget Den-Den

Boobie diamond Ruby's, I'm watchin' on a movie
Drop the top it's cotton and you know I'm in a jacuzzi
Bourban and I'm swervin', man it's gettin' hot
My last name Lemmon, drive my tight 'um off the lot, David Taylor

Wanna be a baller, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike
I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah

I hit the highway, everything's my way, I parley
Everyday all day, ain't no way
Boys can't stop as I slide through your neighborhood
Chop, chop, chop, headed straight to the top
I only play to win 'bout to close up shop

Show stoppin' dead end, pimp the pen once again
Peep the message I send
Take these levels that you devils can't comprehend
Big bout it Benz as I floss through the south
Big blue lens now whatcha talkin' about?

Close yo' mouth as I settle all scores
Scream and shout my similes and metaphors
Mansion doors I constantly close
All you hoes go and take off your clothes
Lord knows ain't no time to play
Commence to fuckin' and-a suckin' on the H.A.W.K.

Wanna be a baller, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin' laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike
I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way, yeah

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ff448e633fcf3fd6d2772d0de8dc5dcb

Wrap It Up - Lyrics - Fabulous Thunderbirds

Title: Wrap It Up
Artist: Fabulous Thunderbirds
Composer(s): Isaac Hayes, David Porter

Lyric:
I've been watchin' you for days now baby
I just love your sexy ways now baby
You know our love will never stop now baby
Just put your lovin' in my box now baby

Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it

Well no more will I shop around now baby
I know I got the best thing in town now baby
I've seen all I want to see now baby
Bring your lovin' straight to me now baby

Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it

Well I'm gonna treat you like the queen you are
Bring you sweet things from my candy jar
You've got tricks you ain't never used
Give it, give it to me, it won't be abused

I've been watchin' you for days now baby
I just love your sexy ways now baby
You know our love will never stop now baby
Just put your lovin' in my box now baby

Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it

Wrap wrap
Wrap wrap
Wrap

Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it

Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it
Wrap it up I'll take it

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975dc393b17d92bf9f65158aad27563c

Wrap It Up - Lyrics - Eurythmics

Title: Wrap It Up
Artist: Eurythmics
Composer(s): Isaac Hayes, David Porter

Lyric:
I've been watching you for days now baby
I just love your sexy ways now baby
You know my love will never stop now baby
Just put your loving in my box baby

Wrap it up, I'll take it
Wrap it up, I'll take it
Wrap it up, I'll take it
Wrap it up, I'll take it

No more will I shop around now baby
You know I've got the best thing in town now baby
I've seen all I wanna see baby
What your loving means to me now baby

Wrap it up, I'll take it
Wrap it up, I'll take it
Wrap it up, I'll take it
Wrap it up, I'll take it

I'm gonna treat you like the queen you are
Give you sweet things from my candy jar
You've got treats you ain't ever used
Give it, give it to me it won't get abused

I've been watching you for days now baby
I just love your sexy ways now baby
You know my love will never stop now baby
Just put your loving in my box baby

Wrap it up, I'll take it
Wrap it up, I'll take it
Wrap it up, I'll take it
...

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c7842316c0648879b5b16e40d83c5731

Waiting - Lyrics - Chemistry - Girls Aloud

Title: Waiting
Album: Chemistry
Artist: Girls Aloud
Composer(s): Cheryl Tweedy, Kimberley Walsh, Nadine Coyle, Timothy Elliott Larcombe, Sarah Harding, Nicola Roberts, Miranda Eleanor D Cooper, Lisa Cowling, Brian Thomas Higgins, Shawn Lee, Shawn Lee Mahan, Paul Robert Woods

Lyric:
The candy ladies said, "Knock, knock, knock
Who wants to come to my candy shop
I give you something to take back home
To give you shivers that you didn't even know"

"But listen, honey, it's drop by drop
The stuff I'm sellin' it's hot, hot, hot
Mr. Magic is not some toy
He's gonna separate the men from the boys"

If every guy's a dog then, baby, throw me to the wolves
I'll never get to Heaven with my glass half full

I've been waiting all this time for you
And I've been hatin' all this talkin', baby, black and blue
'Cause I've been praying, what's a girl to do
'Cause it's been hard not tryin' to bite you with the things I knew

Hey, there buttercup
You're like a peach on ice
I'm gonna heat your body up
And pray that it treats me good tonight

Hey boy, saddle up
Don't have to twist my arm
I like it when you lift my body up
And just enough to send me to the stars

All night, been lookin' at your hard-earned, six pack
Alright, I'll take ya back, feels like

I've been waiting all this time for you
And I've been hatin' all this talkin', baby, black and blue
'Cause I've been praying, what's a girl to do
'Cause it's been hard not tryin' to bite you with the things I knew

Rap bap, the boy can do
Don't stop the rhythm 'cause I'm coming through
Rap bap, the boy can move
Backtrack the middle till I'm in the groove

Rap bap, the boy can do
Don't stop the rhythm' 'cause I'm coming through
Rap bap, the boy can move
Backtrack the middle till I'm in the groove

The candy ladies said, "Knock, knock, knock
Who wants to come to my candy shop
I give you something to take back home
To give you shivers that you didn't even know"

"But listen, honey, it's drop by drop
The stuff I'm sellin' it's hot, hot, hot
Mr, Magic is not some toy
He's gonna separate the men from the boys"

If every guy's a dog then, baby, throw me to the wolves
I'll never get to heaven with my glass half full

I've been waiting all this time for you
And I've been hatin' all this talkin', baby, black and blue
'Cause I've been praying, what's a girl to do
'Cause it's been hard not tryin' to bite you with the things I knew

Rap bap, the boy can do
Don't stop the rhythm 'cause I'm coming through
Rap bap, the boy can move
Backtrack the middle till I'm in the groove

Rap bap, the boy can do
Don't stop the rhythm' 'cause I'm coming through
Rap bap, the boy can move
Backtrack the middle till I'm in the groove

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c9eaeafa0f41d9e09bf101f2f05c1cc1

Sock It 2 Me - Lyrics - Missy Elliott

Title: Sock It 2 Me
Artist: Missy Elliott
Composer(s): Melissa Elliott, Timothy Z Mosley, William Alexander Hart, Shawntae Harris, Thom Bell

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Nigger, yeah
[Incomprehensible]
Do it, do it
Do it, do it
[Incomprehensible]
No

I was lookin' for affection so I decided to go
Swing that up in my direction I'll be outta control
Let's take it to perfection, just you and me
Let's see if you can bring, bring, bring the nasty out of me
Len, Len, Len, sock it

Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
All you gotta say is where Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow

I'm at your house around midnight, don't fall asleep
It'll just be me, me, me on a late night creep
I'ma show you things that you can't believe
Jump in this B E D and won't you sock it 2 me

Soc-soc-sock to me
Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
And all you gotta say is where Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow

Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
And all you gotta say is Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

Ooh ahh, sock it to me like you want to
Ooh ooh, I can take it like a pro, you know
Move along pro with the backstroke
My hormones jumpin' like a disco
I be poppin' mess like some Crisco
And all you gotta say is where Missy go
And when you say go I won't move slow

Why Missy be sockin' it to niggaz like Re Re
The baddest industry bitches of the century
Hit hard like Penitentury did
Finally admitted that we the shit combination on this lethal
Poppin' patron with Missy in the 600 with no see through
Suffer the repercussion, fuckin' with shit like this
We call it puffing constantly makin' niggas suffer the consequence
Gotta' get them ends bitch
House in the Chi with a Candy in Atlanta with a Benz
Niggaz been huffin' and puffin' but ain't try shit
Got cream motherfuckers steady ride quick

Besides kids wanna bust
But you shouldn't forget ends when you fuckin' with me
Jealous 'cause I live more flushed
Me and Missy been livin' with a headrush
Bring the ruckest plus
I'm peddling and pushing, picking up profits
For what I'm sellin', never gonna stop it
Sockin' it to niggaz, they rockin' it, droppin' 'em on the spot
Heat up in the block around the shop
Knockin' you off of your socks
Guaranteed platinum, watch two of the coldest bitches get hot

I be the B R A T, her be Missy
We the bad bitches who be fuckin' it up
I be the B R A T, her be Missy
We the bad bitches who be fuckin' it up

I'm yo' nigga for life, baby
Listen to ya we drive all these motherfuckers crazy
You know what I'm sayin', yeah Timbaland
I see you baby, I feel you
Sock it to 'em goddamnit
It's 9-7, this the motherfuckin' bitch era
What y'all niggaz wanna do
The rat-tat-tat on that ass once more
I'm out the door motherfucker, yeah

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7d6b765fcd50f8bcea32053b1088f8e0

Southern Takeover - Lyrics - The Sound of Revenge - Chamillionaire

Title: Southern Takeover
Album: The Sound of Revenge
Artist: Chamillionaire
Composer(s): Nsilo Kharonde Reddick, Michael Santiago Render, Hakeem Seriki, Nicholas Sherwood, Micah Troy

Lyric:
The sound of revenge, tell 'em what it is Mayne
Welcome to the New World Order
Atlanta, Georgia Houston, Texas
The south is officially takin' over, he already know

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

It's the mister fo fifth told 'em cookin' coke with baking soda
Dub roller, pro smoker, wood gripper, pistol whipper
Muck a nigga if he figure fuckin' with my figures
Makes him richer he should know instead or it'll make him better

Than a money fuckin' with my money
Get yo money stacked right outta Sunday school
On a bright and sunny Sunday this ain't funny
I ain't jokin' 'bout my coke and package come up shorter

Might kidnap yo wife and daughter bury them down deep in Georgia
No D.A's a fuckin' lawyer prosecutin' witnesses
We execute and start the shootin', start the lootin'
Start the violence, start a riot

Get this motherfucker crunker, crunk as you can get it
Pass that ho, I'm a hit it outta line, we gon' spit it
Spit it vivid, 'cause I live it you don't walk it, you just talk it
Pistol totin' and a loadin' that's how smokin' got this dope
And I ain't hopin', steady slangin' right on yo trappa block
Try your track, set up shop try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Hey, hey, hey this ain't about an image, this ain't about a gimmick
Pussys stand to the side now the game got a menace
I damn seen a city that I think is not the realest
We bummin' on his ass, we finishin' his sentence

I only got a minute, I feelin' about a digit
You lookin' at a nigga like I ain't about to get it
I'm lookin' at the money like I ain't about to finish
So you need to mind your business if you ain't about your business

I'm a H-Town soldier
I'm a come with the trunk up yeah I'm a gon' remind ya
If you ain't gettin' it you shoulda told ya father
Nigga Chamillionaire never show no problems

You don't want no problem
Get 'em knees shoulda let the fo fo remind 'em
Ya you tip on the ride 'em
I be ridin' fo fo's on the door beside 'em

6' 6" tall lookin' like he a center
10 tatoos lookin' like he a killa
Skinny ass niggas don't fight with a nigga
Pull out a billfold, put a price on a nigga

I have this camp fo put a knife in a nigga
From the car to his pocket then right in your liver
Was a big boy that put a slice in the middle
Ya head fast think you hold a mike with the killa

Don't mess with the south homie, that's a dream
Hallucinate or imagining so
Double XL with the gats I mean
Keep somethin' ready to blow in the magazine

And you know that southern cash is mean
Franklin's frown for me when I stash my cream
Pull up in candy paint that match my green
Killer, Pastor and Koopa are the master machine

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Y'all know me, it's PT well I hunt and all of that
Black on black, with black tip, I can't help but represent
I'm not content, I want more who the fuck you take me for?
Studio rappers not the fortay, drop my top and bust my AK

No more play, N G A yeah, that's a classic
Ridin' in the classic tote a mill and I blast 'em
Send 'em to the casket, send 'em to the morgue
Slap me a nigga 'cause I'm motherfuckin' bored

Chamillionaire, I camoflouge in my surrounding
Get my desert E's and get to motherfuckin' poundin'
Up and down the streets throwin' heat, out the driver's seat
Ridin' to the beat tell them nigga just lay weak

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Play the MP3 online for free!

98d1e706a0dae176934c0fc45b3610e2

Neck Uv Da Woods - Lyrics - Let's Get Ready - Mystikal

Title: Neck Uv Da Woods
Album: Let's Get Ready
Artist: Mystikal
Composer(s): A Patton, M Tyler, David Sheats, A Benjamin

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
This is, Mystikal and Outkast
I'm representin''

I'm out for the big bucks and no whammies goddammit
You can't stand it
Make 'em feel the impact and I ain't even in Miami
Handlin' with my man 'nem in Atlanta
And they play me 'cos they know
I bring the kinda shit you feelin as I'm sayin it
I'm like the NBA, sore thumb or pawn shop tech nine
Bitch I'm known for jammin'
Smoke Mary, Mary, Mary
Put a mean ass flow on top of bad vocabulary
I bust through, intrude, move through distractions
Withstand hits and blows don't lose no traction
I threw a round off flip flop flip flop back at 'em
If a nigga comin' clown then I'm going get the cannon
And then get God back
Knuckle up boy, don't be no fucked boy
Me and Guillotine we run some niggas
In a big truck boy run flat boy, run that boy
Bitch where I'm a send you you can't come back boy
I bring flames to a four alarm fire
I wash him up and ring him out and throw him in the dryer
I hit the door
I'm blowin him like southern band and they always tryin' to find Something to say about the brother man
I invent em flip 'em and send em
Rhymes set you jumped like I poured king cobra over ya
Guess what, this is a stick up
Give me back my shit before I start pickin' bricks up
Garbage MC's better run for it
Don't come this way 'cos you can't walk
On this side of the yard and respect me for takin it to 'em
So expect me to lay it down and represent my neck of the woods
Yeah, like that, ha ha, yeah yeah yeah
Mystikal and Outkast, ha ha

If it don't bump off in the club, you can't rock
If it ain't eight o eight in the trunk, it ain't knock
If you round our neck of the woods, you better stop
'Cos the people on the block gonna show you where to drop, ahh

If it don't bump off in the club, you can't rock
If it ain't eight o eight in the trunk, it ain't knock
If you round our neck of the woods, you better stop
'Cos the people on the block gonna show you where to drop, ahh

All a the heat rise to the beat wise
To that nigga that spit that street fire
Mystikal, Andre and big Boi takin em out of the park like Mark Mcgwire Sosa, you so so, you brown and small like Toto
You're bitch made like Dorothy
You belong in a soroioty, I'm gonna call you cocoa
Like candy, go sing a song with Brandy
But rhyming and double timing, what is you saying?
I take my thirteen shot I pray my style is drunken
And you know we doin the big beat
Oh hell yeah it's gonna be bumpin
Givin' you somethin to beat the block with
Meet the cops with my stamina's incredible
So sucka don't try to stop this the d-u-n-g-e-o-n family
Merrily life is but a dream
I mean a nightmare 'cos it's scarin' me but I live
Gotta give one double O percent above the rest
Yeah that daddy fat sacks gon burst, and you know that, yeah
Yeah know that east point never stop like that
All the way to decatur

If it don't bump off in the club, you can't rock
If it ain't eight o eight in the trunk, it ain't knock
If you round our neck of the woods, you better stop
'Cos the people on the block gonna show you where to drop, ahh

If it don't bump off in the club you can't rock
If it ain't eight o eight in the trunk it ain't knock
If you round our neck of the woods you better stop
'Cos the people on the block gonna show you where to drop, ahh

Hey, what's your name?
Andre three thousand, the year to fear is already here
Must look beyond, sounds from the center of the sun
Reason for a gun, only one
Strong believer in self-preservation
Aahhhhh, oof
In the state of confused
City of forgotten fate, county of the blues
Street address, generation X avenue
But generation Y high to the point that I drink
Runnin' on a new one
Walkin' in my silver boots, need a shoe horn and some church socks
What if I told you that even if you made clocks
Stops, time rewinds, see what he finds
Then re-arrange and change things that's on your mind
Would you swallow like fine wine or peanut butter?
Would you holler that I'm live and ask another?
Or take no heat and run for cover?

If it don't bump off in the club, you can't rock
If it ain't eight o eight in the trunk, it ain't knock
If you round our neck of the woods, you better stop
'Cos the people on the block gonna show you where to drop, ahh

If it don't bump off in the club, you can't rock
If it ain't eight o eight in the trunk, it ain't knock
If you round our neck of the woods, you better stop
'Cos the people on the block gonna show you where to drop, ahh

If it don't bump off in the club, you can't rock
If it ain't eight o eight in the trunk, it ain't knock
If you round our neck of the woods, you better stop
'Cos the people on the block gonna show you where to drop, ahh

Play the MP3 online for free!

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