, Rum and coke, and five ounces of dope In the middle of the twist, in the cud of smoke Where my dogs, are the hogs, O.G's and loc's All the.... Girls
nigga, until it's bedtime Anything I'm on is a classic, any nigga Ever had beef with, son is a bastard Anytime I spit, spit acid, L.O.X. Ruff Ryder you
guns in the cars wit' us Bust at any muther fucka actin' hard wit' us Don't really wanna show you wut a G.I.B. I'd rather be sippin' Remy in V.I.P.
street marines Dirty nina's in the hands of ghetto fiends I'm caught between the hard life and ghetto dreams I got schemes with black berets and get away like o
girls ass (ah ah ah) Be in Huston with Flip In Memphis with 6 Atlanta T.I We handle D.I God damn I be fly Hi so Cameron D I Bye from hammers to pies
a millie or more than what is you on the beat for. Detour, He poor, but he said he a D-boy. (D-boy?) All the rappers act like they need war, but when
Voice: Montgom'ry Ward sent me a bathtub and a cross-cut saw. People: O-ho the Wells Fargo Wagon is a-comin' now Is it a prepaid surprise or C.O.D.
they eyes on you QBC, lime Bacardi, G.O.D. Father Pt. III On some hashish in Embassy Suite, crash your party Yo, it's the G.O.D., Father Pt. III QBC,
pass, I'ma make the cash Me, Chamille, and Magno Grind hard everyday for the cash flow I pull up in the jag slow, it's M.O.B. until I go I hit the catch
inan english translation of the texts, mail me, and maybe I'll make it. Anyway, have fun. ` E VOLA .... IN ALTO .... FINO ........ A D I O ! ! ! ! `
Cannon And His Jug Stompers JSPCD3406 Stack o' dollars Stack o' dollars Long as I am tall Hey now, mama get some Stack o' dollars Just long as I
uh-huh) Get the fuck out the motherfuckin kitchen, knamtalkinbout (getcha ass out) The boy Lil' Jon, doin this shit with my nigga T.I.! Ghet-O-Vision, Youngbloodz (Ghet-O
My car broke down in Billings and they just got it back together I'll be photo finishing in to old Cheyenne We'll here I am in Sheridan and its 9 o'clock
at least leave a good hoof beat they'll remember loud and long I'd not a good foot soldier make, I'd be sour and slow at march And I'd be sick on a navy
cannons in her gut In the first two weeks on that bloody creek my brother lost his arm Was only sixty days till all we prayed was get us home unharmed O
it was the cannon smoke some say the Northern lights, That cast a ghostly image over Fredericksburg that night, Some say it was God's spirit lookin' o