So all you haters out there, yes you better start running Lock your doors, protect your homes The hurricanes coming through the microphone Blowing up
all you haters out there, yes you better start running . Lock your doors protect your homes. The hurricanes coming through the microphone. Blowing up
grip, I lost a flip for five stacks Yeah, I'm talking five comma six zeroes dot zero ? Back to running circles 'round niggas, now we squared up Hold up
Don't wanna lose you to the sucker Cause if he touch ya, I got some drama for that busta Don't wanna rush ya -- but make your mind up fast Nobody knows
lies and failing relationships. (Up the stairs: the station where the act becomes the art of growing up.) He keeps his hands low. He doesn't wanna blow
can get down with cus she dont mees with suckas sleep all day, and grind all night living in the fast lane, the game's nothin polite so im laced up tight
somethin' like hard punches to the gut How I address the haters and under estimaters And ride up on them like they escalators They shook up and hooked up
comes around goes back around again And niggaz gon' act up now again And What goes up must come down And I'll be here like What's Up now? [Verse 2] I
finger tips wit the grass stains (Nigga!) Like I don't swing and zip through the fast lane Would you believe, this ringer chipped me a fast Range (Nigga
in a week I could show you how to blow up on ya own; in a Benz That'll hit a buck! and make the windows go up on they own Wit a stash box compartment
the dude with the Grammy grin It's no relation if it ain't a street family kin So won't the real Fabolous please stand up Please stand up Please stand up
up, shotty blast, zipped up, body bag Fifth tucked, then what? Bullets hit your body fast We beatin' murderers with the same lawyer Gotti had Tie him to a pick-up
Simpson off in a week I can show you how to blow up on ya own In the Benz that hit a buck, and make the doors go up on they own With a stashbox compartment
when its getting real good better pull it out When niggas front don't give up my brother sweat it out [chorus:] And don't smoke what you don't roll up
sale, wakin up in the morning w/a shitload of mail, the wake up the bake up, chillin while u face blunts, going in blowed (be it shape up?) like say what
Steppin up in this club, with my tool bag Rub a dub, rub a dub dub, rub a rub a dub dub [repeat 4x] I light up like a genie and I blow up on this song
cares All you got is motherfuckers who will jock you Yeah, you got money in your pocket And you shoot up the ground like a rocket You move so fast
T Milli Eh, Million You know the camp YF, Young Favorites Bitch! I fucked this white girl [x4] Who got a pink range (rover) And she drives fast in
