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' k**a
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' these
I got slack in the front and the back of me
It's a tragedy, I was raised on streets
Blazed on sweets, and sprayed posses
Costly profession, learned my lesson
Bout' Impressin' my click with Smith & Wesson
Addressin' Ghetto issues
When I sold me crack, had me Mom goin' through a box of tissues
But if I was in his shoes, I'd probably still lose
It's in my blood to k** fools
Him choose d**h when he disrespect
Inject my Tec, and then I press eject
The Mex will check any clique that trips
It don't make sense talkin' lip to clips
Which way to run, where do you hide?
Boo-YAH! Ooh y'all almost died
Now take a ride with me, through the deep blue sky
Here take a hit, let me get you high
Chorus