Lyrics:
vids like a Tik Tok
Yeah I like to G it down
No other mc can’t teeth this sound
You can tell the DJ to wheel this round
Might dun the dance I get P’s
imaginary end
P-R-I-M too live for T.V
I-T-I on the grind since G3
V-E find me, rhyming freely
Rappers try and they strive to be me
P-R-I-M too live for T.V
Beast
Respect this White Chief
If there was such a thing
Descended from a King
Or Slaves both are fine by Me
What Man?
What Man?
You're Cajun What Man
the microphone master
Look, I crash ya, bash ya skull
Fucky with Mally G if you're trying to take a fall
Niggaz talk about killin and never get to it
Fuck
of the man who point the blame
Still a P-O, P-I,M-P, we be P-A,P-E-R...chase
Chorus:
Paperchase, I'm on a motherfuckin' paperchase
Paperchase, I'm
Shined up my shoes and jumped in my ride
Feelin' like a pimp, doin' fifty-five
In a five-seven, clean as a reverend
LS3, so G, keep my engine revvin'
be giving out bud for free
I'm scamming out all the fiends by giving them peas
I'm giving them p's I got all the p's
I came with the p's and q's
I came
wanna make my family proud
So if you hear my ting tun it up loud
I might pull up in a ski mask
Pull up in a black car four man G’d up
Everyone knows who
money, we ain't learn how to act
All in the V.I.P. spendin' four or five stacks
You can tell it's T.I.P. from how I bend my hat
Send the waitress
grow up top
Light flash out di crow whole block
Topboy Charlie weed yuh shot
Load up van fi likkle p innit
Break it bag it run it
Man neva rest
on with the shades on not by myself but we on this Island
Aye
Now bring the hook
Heart of a hustler
Mind of a G
I been getting money you can't hate on me
I body your man
Do a drive by on you live with a body cam
Fucking with Feddie then count your bread and your blessings
Fuck over Feddie, they find
pump)
Who am I? (The S-N-Double-O-P)
Nickname (Silky Smell)
Last name (D-O-double-G, pump, pump)
The behavior and the flavor that I found
Makes me
Man, don't you know that I'm loco?
I was chillin' right around my way
21st, east side of the Beach
This motherfucker ran up on me
Talkin' shit
feeling Misch Porter
True say I might step with Harlem
I'm a hundred with gang
And by myself I'm spartan
Them man there doing up bench
Cause they ain't
x2]
I put the D into Drugs an' the G into Guns
I put the D into Dubs an' the T into Thugs
I put the C into 'Caine an' the P into Pain
The G into
tryna impress, G
Man, can see that your man-bag's empty
No need to pretend
I don't wanna hear you talk greazy again
Never shot food, never shot no
you the worst
Punk ass nigga kinda jocking now
You ain't down cause I trust nobody
[chorus/master p]
I trust nobody x2
[master p]
One by one in this
Spoke to the yard man wanna know the p to the 45 like Alhan
Spoke to the runner said he's got more than a oner and he's still counting
Will get that
Man, Redman, B-Real
Shout out to Wiz Khalifa and Sen Dog, you know! G-yeah!
I ain't here to bring the East back (nah), I'm here to relapse
An hour
Your school get dazed like G by G
Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill
Take nuts and screws out ferris wheels
If you ain't Missy, payin' no bills
'em G stacks
And got them corn rows to the back
I ain't really trying to be picky
But if you give me somethin, its got to be the sticky
Doing by
way past quarter to three (I said Hands Up!)
I'm good in the V.I.P. I got my hammer right here with me (I said Hands Up!)
You know when you party with
roll, roll your dubs
Eastside I-T-see
Roll your dogging doggy dogg
Nigga this D-P-G
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