| Lyrics: | [Chorus:]
Comin' Up Comin' Down,
That G in H-Town,
South Bound as I clown,
Come
around blaze a pound
[x4]
[First Verse:]
Well let me jump in this funk, with a pump
and fake,
Give me five funky dollars you can bump my tape,
Cuz my flow come reala than a
dealer servin' killa,
Ain't nobody trilla, Still a body chilla,
Feel a millimeter comin'
quicker than a cheetah,
Me drop you on your peta,
Then snatch your senorita,
I be the
creepa, back street sweeper,
Want a pound of reefer, hit me on my beeper,
Leaf of tha Ganga,
make me really want'cha,
Dip me up in water, fried with me sauncha,
Got'cha, me glock pop
pop on your drop top,
Tha way I dodge cops like the rock in hop scotch,
Drop a pig, I can
dig deep in your terrordome,
Smoke on my square alone, don't know one care at home,
Pair of
chrome gats, blow backs on tha sidewalk,
I got my glock poppin' hot rocks in your body,
party-hearty,
Lodi Dodi Carley, your Daddy smoke like Bob Marley,
Sorry I'm hardly the one
you should learn from,
Everywhere I turn somebody wanna burn one,
It's the cursed son worse
than the first one,
When me gat burst to the nurse or the hearse,
Cuz I shoot'em in the
booty man, local Hillwoodian,
Choppin' on a cookie, Mama put me in the Looney bin,
Could
have been a better man, up in NeverNeverLand,
Jesus's helpin' hand, reason this record
jam,
Never ran, never will,
Still chill in Hillwood,
Damn sure feel good,
Livin' in
a real hood
[Chorus]
[Second Verse:]
Now you can work on knees,
You can
jack for keys,
I cut my cheese,
And get t stackin' G's,
Drinkin' daquiri's, and ain't no
jackin' |
