|
zuò qǔ : Brito, Giles, Zayas |
|
Yo, JR, they' ve been waitin' for you, dawg |
|
They' ve been askin' |
|
You ready? You up, motherfucker, DipSet, let' s go |
|
Writer |
|
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, strugglers |
|
Block bubblers, pushers, cookers, pot jugglers |
|
What' s the word, y' all? Flip that herb raw |
|
Clap, that' s the byrd call |
|
If the cops are comin', get to hop and runnin' |
|
Quick and drop that onion, ain' t no stoppin' young' n |
|
Put away that herb raw, let us know the word or |
|
Clap, that' s the byrd call |
|
I still be where the weed flip, in the P' s wit the trees lit |
|
So much water in the order, it' s just leavin' ' em seasick |
|
Wit a ski in my V6, tryin' to skeet on a B lips |
|
Down low, like I' m tryin' to keep her a secret |
|
Acura on chrome, passin' me dome |
|
Next minute, shit, I' m finished, she' ll be flaggin' it home |
|
But I always keep a straggler that' s known to bone |
|
And run through a lap, faster than Marion Jones |
|
Man, listen, I still got the grams flippin' |
|
Tan pitchin', corner to the damn kitchen |
|
Gained a couple fans, had to make a transition |
|
But I' m still in the hood like your transmission |
|
No cat could match me, I' m passin' fastly, who' s half as nasty |
|
I got it locked from here, all the way to Cakalakie |
|
But keep a mac for scrappies thinkin' it' s just Laffy Taffy |
|
Shit, this beat' ll be the only thing clappin' at me |
|
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, strugglers |
|
Block bubblers, pushers, cookers, pot jugglers |
|
What' s the word, y' all? Flip that herb raw |
|
Clap, that' s the byrd call |
|
If the cops are comin', get to hop and runnin' |
|
Quick and drop that onion, ain' t no stoppin' young' n |
|
Put away that herb raw, let us know the word or |
|
Clap, that' s the byrd call |
|
Damn, homey, in high school, you was the man, homey |
|
That' s what a fan told me, shit |
|
Same old cat, get his Kangol clapped |
|
Brains blown back, dissin' dame, dame don' t rap |
|
Shame on black, the game' s so whack |
|
Dame search for children from in front of ya buildin' |
|
Right to a hundred million |
|
Go ahead, pimpin', pimpin', go ahead, act up doggy |
|
Getcha limp on pimpin', if they actin' froggy |
|
Tell ' em, back up off me, I come down, clap the 40 |
|
Child, that' s a badder story, I' m not in my category |
|
Mess around, dame held Def Jam down |
|
So pardon my back, jackin' any left hand pounds |
|
Redneck found, tech, tech pound, duck, duck goose |
|
Pump, pump shoot, shoot, let' s get down, down |
|
It may seem petty, but we all turn mean deadly |
|
For green fetti, my whole team ready |
|
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, strugglers |
|
Block bubblers, pushers, cookers, pot jugglers |
|
What' s the word, y' all? Flip that herb raw |
|
Clap, that' s the byrd call |
|
If the cops are comin', get to hop and runnin' |
|
Quick and drop that onion, ain' t no stoppin' young' n |
|
Put away that herb raw, let us know the word or |
|
Clap, that' s the byrd call |
|
This ain' t only bars and tracks, this is for the hardest cats |
|
Flippin' all the hard and back, make ' em catch a heart attack |
|
When you see the narcs attack, let me know, start to clap |
|
Clap, clap |
|
A star with a deal, Chapar be on chill |
|
The car is DeVille, it' s real ill, pardon the grill |
|
It' s foreign my nills, cruise the city with the semi |
|
All silly on skinnies, like I' m starvin' my wheels, uh |
|
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, strugglers |
|
Block bubblers, pushers, cookers, pot jugglers |
|
What' s the word, y' all? Flip that herb raw |
|
Clap, that' s the byrd call |
|
If the cops are comin', get to hop and runnin' |
|
Quick and drop that onion, ain' t no stoppin' young' n |
|
Put away that herb raw, let us know the word or |
|
Clap, that' s the byrd call |