Print

(feat. Billy Cook) [Billy Cook] Oooooh-oooh, Iiiiiiiiii'm so throwed, in the game In the two triple O, Po-Yo, Billy G, aaaaaaaay [Hook x2: Billy Cook] I'm so thoed in the game All the haters wanna know my name I'm pushing weight, to leveling the game Open up your eyes, and see the fame [Big Pokey] I'm so, thoed in the game Blood and sweat, got a nigga feeling the pain Moving like a freight train, and ain't looking back Trying to make the big head stack, feel that Open your eyes, I'm a wolverine on the rise Mobbing like Wise Guys, my eyes on the prize Recognize, it's a hell of a feeling It's cathedral ceilings, I'm building and shuffling shilling Trying to touch a million, 'fore my time is up I ain't touched it yet, so I ain't blind enough And the playa haters agitated, cause the figgas I done calculated, I put it in they face laminated Nonstop, let em know my guns chop SongtexteAnd if it's on, I'ma make they lungs stop Snitches, I'ma snatch they tongue out Oooh yeah, know I'm talking bout [Hook x2: Billy Cook] [Big Pokey] I'm a playa, lose corners checking my trap Hitting gaps like Warren Sapp, trying to make something happ'n Day for day with it, on the block getting paid with it Twenty fo' seven, I stay with it I don't play with it, I pump it nigga Laws come dumping, all the neers gate and jumping nigga Get my bail on, head home and get my cell phone So I could re-up, and get my mail on This ain't the first time, I lost my do' Or toss my do', as long as I ain't lost my hoe Can't cry over spilled milk, just jump on my game And make my gears shift, real swift I'm a threat, one of the realest you ever met If I'm trading a set, with a brick and some wet In the big body Lex on dubs, pop pushed up Sitting low on the dubs, nigga what [Hook x2: Billy Cook] [Big Pokey] All I need is a three beam, and coffee mug to shake Big bag of weight, compressed and duct taped Peep the print on it, K-9 can't get a scent on it Bust that hoe down, and let the fleas get bent on it My hustle, I've been known it for deep Keep my game concrete, cement under my feet Head up, moving in the right direction Knowing I can make a mill, with the right connection Mob Style through Texas, a A-1 selection And I spit the truth, like a sinner in confession Hauling wessins, waiting for something to jump First nigga to bump, will catch a hot one in his gum Get your paper by all means, gotta survive Working this crack of construction, from nine to five But it's my time to shine, I'ma blind they eyes Knocking my rides off like french fries, supersized [Hook x2: Billy Cook] Aus Songtexte Mania