Traduction: BO Foolish. Put 'Em Up [mr. Serv-le].
Traduction: BO Foolish. M. Serv-le --- mettre 'em Up.
Mr. Serv-On] Put 'em up, put 'em up, bitch you heard what I said Put 'em up, put 'em up, you think I'm playin' what I said Put 'em up, put 'em up, bitch
(feat. Butch Cassidy, Don Cisco, Nino Brown, Russell Lee, Mr. Kee) [Mr. Kee:] Yeah Hustler's theme Worldwide Come on [Hook: Mr. Kee] All money ain't
fucker when we bang bang, squeezing pistols that make em bang Haters smoking that swisha swisha sweet boy, switching damn lanes Pulling guns and put two
you lag, you lose See, we serve our bass raw, straight up and not false This is the kind you dance to, and not on 8-Ball Plenty of bass, the beat, and
, put 'em in the river, Bodies shiver, FUCK that nigga Hit 'em up inside, minds be blowin' I'm dumpin' Remember me spray 'em slay 'em guage 'em layin 'em
that close hit 'em up wid the forty reasons Nigga roll up the buddah, Smoke it all up nigga don't stiff on the reefer Mo runnin' up outta the club wid
creep on a come up Niggas be tryin run up, but I bust, and they drop to their death Now they done up. Gun up, hunt my blunt up Creepin' 'til sun up, feelin
make some money so me making me dummy rocks, choppin up soap, Split em up, get em up, hit em off the block, Put a hand pullin on each loaded barrel, Cuz
's ass If you don't understand, don't even bother to ask A father who has grown up with a fatherless past Who has blown up now to rap phenomenon that
If you ain't up on this then you ain't up on shit Super official with the style If you ain't up on this then you ain't up on shit [Suffa (Pressure):]
serve us Y'ALL nervous, know them guns on full service, ready to fire One body, two body, three body, four Young sittin on paper, I'm above the law Young shittin on
in the bahamas Rock on the dance floor to din dada Cause I'm a player that you love to hate Got your girl suckin' dick on video tape I like pussy...suckin' on
through your home, get ya coach on the phone Tell 'em "go'on" (Chorus) Show 'em what they won, a short stay at the hotel, Bob Show 'em what they
goin drop Old school, big shoes, nigga, no socks We keep tools, see fools, bullets will flock [Big Gipp] They call me Mr. Ravioli, Mr. Scrotum, Mr. Poke Em with the Noodle Mr
step up in the party, like I'm out-you-scurry So go get your fuckin' shine box, and your sack of nickles It tickles to see you try to be like Mr. Pickles
