| What it do
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| Ouu
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| Tobe, what it do baby?
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| On God, I got the juice
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| Tobe Bryant
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| Me, I’m Paul Wall Frazier
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| On God, I got the juice
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| I got the juice, I got the juice like I pushed Bishop off the roof
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| Nell, what it do?
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| Sam Canell
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| Lanell Sprewell
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| Aye, aye, aye, aye
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| It’s that Paul Walrus, I got a lot of monikers
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| Fresh from Santa Monica gettin' blowed like harmonicas
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| That smoke got me harmonious, I’m so gone like Monica
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| Blowin' backwoods only, the only papers is Houston Chronicles
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| A Hall of Fame hustler, voted unanimous and anonymous
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| But boys be actin' animus 'cause my presence is rather ominous
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| Not to mention my pockets are fat as a obese hippopotamus
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| I avoid hate like obstacles, talkin' down is so monotonous
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| Them boys couldn’t see me through they oculus with binoculars
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| I’m still the people’s champ, yeah my pseudonym is synonymous
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| I like to stack up lots of bucks while you chasin' after octopus
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| I’m married to the game so it’s easy to be monogamous
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| I’m never fallin' off, the mere notion is preposterous
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| Still In my prime like optimus, used to pop trunk at Metropolis
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| The grind is rather arduous but I ain’t stoppin' 'til the apocalypse
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| 'Cause I do it for my family, not the likes nor the followers
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| Paul Wallaby
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| On God, I got the juice
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| On God, I got the juice
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| I got the juice like I pushed Bishop off the roof
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| I-I-I got the juice like I pushed Bishop off the roof
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| I hit up Paul and told him that I want gold in my mouth
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| So when I speak, all day shine off in my teeth, light up nouns
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| That’s a person, place or thing, swear I’m diverse in ways I bring
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| Bales of manna with country grammar, sweet as a tangerine
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| I follow a Nazarene but I still might paint the Hyundai candy
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| 'Cause I’m modest but be honest, I got more sauce than shrimp scampi
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| I go ape, I go chimpanzee on every beat that they hand me
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| I’ve been branded as the man who gon' handle my hood advancement
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| Out the slum, I ain’t dumb, I know you plotters be peepin'
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| But my head down and my arms cover my paper, it ain’t no cheatin'
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| I’m eatin' plus I got all the flavor, I’m lowkey seasoning
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| Woe are those who willingly done gave their heart to hoes
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| I was told by the G code that that’s fleeting
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| On God, I was broke for over thirty seasons
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| Now me and Fat in our thirties 'bout to be in Norway
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| Like some melinated Norwegians
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| If a rapper stiff as me, he prolly ain’t breathing
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| That’s rigor mortis, I hope y’all absorb this, flow gorgeous
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| How I’m teaching
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| Flow freezing, I’m the coldest in my region
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| Y’all decent but if I’m critiquing, y’all feces
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| It ain’t nothing personal, lies kill
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| And if I die tomorrow, my wife and my whole hood know I’m real
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| On God, I got the juice (Too real)
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| On God, I got the juice (True and real, trill)
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| I got the juice like I pushed Bishop off the roof (They talkin' 'bout?
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| Juiced up)
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| I-I-I got the juice like I pushed Bishop off the roof (Aye juiced up,
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| got all the juice)
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| I’m still breakin' boys off from the North to the South
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| I got gold in my grill, I got diamonds in my mouth
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| I’m still breakin' boys off from the North to the South
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| I got gold in my grill, I got diamonds in my mouth
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| No toll tag, I still stunt hard on the feeder
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| With a baby in the backseat and a bad mamacita
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| Block bleeder, stackin' Keebler, God bless me, I’m a sneezer
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| Shakin' off haters like seizures, countin' paper in my leisure
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| Flow water, Aquafina, nah, I’m lyin', that’s acidic
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| I spit Fiji but if need be, I’m a ocean like Pacific
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| My slab look like an exhibit, all the boppers want to visit
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| My interior’s butter biscuits, I’m the greatest to be specific
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| Dog, that’s explicit, hella vivid but my flow magic like a wizard
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| I’m with Paul, hell, all we need is a color-changing lizard
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| Now hold up Tobe, that’s expensive, that’s my brother though, no tension
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| Matter fact, go tag Chamillionaire in my mentions, let’s get it
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| On God |