Lyrics:
ain't talkin' 'bout chicken an' gravy, man
I'm talkin' 'bout bricks 'o ye yo, halves an' quarters
4 an' a halves of hash, you do the math
Swing past us,
Thug from the past
Sold drugs by the slab
Use to transport coke through cabs
Like a fork to the hill
Until my nigga Black got killed
Talkin' guns
These
Chorus:
If you niggaz ain't scared, throw yo setts in da air
Throw yo setts in da air, throw yo setts in da air
If you niggaz ain't scared, throw
backin down
Act a clown I?ll show you its nothing
Throw dat E up in yo face
I pulled yo card so get the buckin
You know the deal
And talkin shit is wastin
shot on the spot
It's a sticky sitch-e-ation, tryin to duck to hatin
Fuckin with my family, I get worse than Satan
Turnin niggaz out, at a young age
It's
mardi Gras party hard
I'm laughing at ya'll, hardy har
Bar for bar body all of ya'll, frequent!
I'ma need participation here
Hands in the air can I get
Hit me on this e-mail, I'ma hit 'em back, see what it do
What they talkin' 'bout
Well I got me a couple pictures on this e-mail too
We gon' see what
Shawty, I'mma call
Yeah
Big 118, shit, nigga
Fuck the square, these niggas ain't prepared
I got somethin' that'll put a square nigga in the air
a polar bear's toenails
Oh hell, there he go again talkin' that
Bend, corner's like I was a curve, I struck a nerve
And now you 'bout to see this
no messi
I think i need an uzi right now, cause i got a lil rage boy
Pull up with a mac on my lap
Use it like a pro, gotta air it out
Imma get my
round the corner, you gon hear my axe scrappin
Your bitch pillow talkin', gettin dick down by a bunch of dudes
piss up on a fuck boy, blade scrappin on my
Cadillacs
Bitch, I don't smoke hookah, I smoke gas (smoke gas)
I don't do stupid, I do the math (I do the math, ho)
I'm talkin numbers like my nigga Larry
yeah, yeah
É tudo nosso
Conexão Brasil, Estados Unidos
É pra chapar rapá
Eu tenho o prazer de dizer que tou ah
Aqui agora para cantar para você, para
up, cuz?
Thuggin' that dirty South
Four letters, two numbers, bitch, Grey59
Three fingers in the air, main bitch by my side
$licky pull up in
and choose
Talkin' up under your brisneath, hot air?
Comin' off like you some sort of hellafied ass ninja but you's a square
Whatchu doin' Charlie? Just
the air
I can feel it in the air
Fucking bitches by the pair
Keep that semi on me yea
Them niggas plotting on me yea
I can feel it in the air
Ayy
I can
around the way
I got a call from MrRogers just the other
Day - telling me he by my side
I'm like what the fuck you talkin bout
- until he told me Loinna
Uh
H2, 26 inch shoes
Big boy toys, air traveller iceman shoes
Straight fool, look at the way that I wear my hair
Look at the pants
Yeah, I'm giving it over
Music by Peter Furler and Steve Taylor / Lyrics by Steve Taylor
©©2002 Dawn Treader Music (admin. by EMI Christian Music
thousand strong with their hands in the air
Up and down like hell, yeah
So fresh, so fly, so sweet, so polite
So much, too many, but we ridin' tonight
tryin' to prove
To they homies that they can hang by dealin' with me
But once again in the end they D-E-A-D
I never did time on a murder yet
'Cause I
I do what I wanna do
I say what I wanna say
When I feel, and I
Look in the mirror and know I'm there
With my hands in the air
I'm proud to say
(The Mekanix)
Niggas don't want you to keep your head up
Fuck what they talkin' 'bout, nigga, get your bread up
La-da-da, da, da-da-da, da
We be in the back blowin' mad smoke
Take it where it can't go
They been talkin' all that shit but where they at doe?
On the grind for a minute, where
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