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[Chorus] Too many niggas, trying to take me off of my game |
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Just a nigga from the hood, that's looks some good |
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Now they all want to to jock my fame |
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When I coming down in my ?born? |
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And I'm rolling one deep that should tell you about me |
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I don't give a damn about none of you hoes |
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I blast on sight cause |
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I ain't tripping no more [Z-Ro] |
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You can't knock my hustle, ain't no games gone be played |
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Even haters a hundred miles away, deuce out they shades |
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Coming down one deep, |
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I ain't gone stop and try to speak |
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I keep on rolling mean mugging as |
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I pull on a sweet |
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I gave a cool package of sellers, because |
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I knocked down yellas |
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Keep a 4 for myself and a 4-4 for the jealous |
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Cause them boys be scoping, intoxicated and hoping |
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That they run up on |
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Z-Ro I leave they flesh wide open |
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Let them take me for what, cause |
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I be damned if |
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I slip Beretta beam in the club same thang on my hip |
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Another case like that, if you don't think |
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I bring that |
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Run on up and |
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I'ma bust and flip your brain like crack [Chorus] [Z-Ro] |
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Nothing but dollars we clock, show after show we gone rock |
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Pimpin hoes in the five double o and baby mamas gone jock |
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What the fuck is the deal, somebody pass me the kill |
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Rubatussin and marijuana, one time and |
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I peal Don't let a snitch see my dope, cause the snitches gone squeel |
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If they play with my freedom, you know a coffin gone feel |
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Niggas be working with louds, |
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I'm gone work on they jaws |
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Putting snitches in ditches cause |
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I know they be talking bout |
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Every move that |
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I make, that's why |
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I be solo when |
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I bake Cooking up in the kitchen come up with a ounce with no flakes |
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Cause when |
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I say get back, before my finger start itching |
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Better believe when |
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I relieve my stress you might come up missing |
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I don't be kissing no ass, take a hit and dump the ash |
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I'ma chop on 20's with sparkling oak on my dash |
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I'm too low to descirbe, out the |
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Screwed Up tribe |
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Read about it in the |
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Source, Murda |
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Dog and the |
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Vibe [Chorus] [Z-Ro] |
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Remember back in 94 they use to laugh at me baby |
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Now it's year two triple o broads be after me baby |
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Can you recall when |
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I was sparkling now |
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I hide behind 10 |
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Cause being in a drop with a escallade |
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I know you want to know where |
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I went I got a bitch named |
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Lucy, for me she sell her coochie |
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Finest in the vagina for lunch when |
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I feel like sushi |
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See it to the day we fall, we ball out of control |
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Everyday at my low key location hoes fall out of they clothes |
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Range Rovers and |
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Hummers, 45 glock gunner |
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Plus I'm a pen pimping veteran, smelling plex among new comers |
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How you love a platinum plack it means |
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I'm already gold |
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It ain't no joke |
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I'm in the scope, five hundred thousand already sold |
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I'm throwed off in the mind, mic and producer and booms no ?reap? in the wine |
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Smoke to relax my mind, radio songs go lemon lime |
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Fuck a neuse a niggas might go thet there to the po po why pop it |
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Giving out my phone number on the daily cause it won't hurt my pocket [Chorus] [Z-Ro: outro] |
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Man, what's the god damn deal, |
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Southside, |
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Northside, |
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Eastside, |
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Westside It's your boy |
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Z-Ro, knocking down the door in year two triple o |
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S.U.C. for life, screw you, it's for you baby |
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Heavy Weighters, my nigga |
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Toon, R-O, |
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Big M-O-E |
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Z to the Ro, |
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Geurilla Maab affilliated, know what |
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I'm saying |
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Putting it down, new millenium it's ours, get that baby |
