| ace! |
| Uh. uh uh uh uh |
| Uh. wait a minute now |
| Uh-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! |
| Uh, uh. |
| Can you hear me out there? |
| Lunatics. is y’all ready? |
| Let me hear ya |
| Uh-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! |
| I’m a sucka for corn rows and manicured toes (hey) |
| Fendi capri pants and Parasuco’s (alright) |
| Passedeena ?? city, with one or two throws |
| I’m draftin 'em outta high school straight into the pros |
| Who knows? I know! |
| And I love it when you make your knees touch your elbows |
| And break it down low to the flo', and there you go |
| Now throw it on me slow |
| And everytime I bust a ryhme, baby «Gimme Some Mo'» |
| You say you like that, when I hit it from behind |
| And I’ll be right back; yeah that’s my very next line |
| I use it — time after time, when I’m speakin my mind |
| It’s no matter if I’m shootin game to a pigeon or dime |
| I ask her, «Who dat is, talkin that shit about the 'tics?» |
| Somebody probably jealous cause they bitch got hit |
| But ain’t nobody else droppin shit like this |
| Should we apologize? Nah fuck 'em, just leave 'em pissed, HEY! |
| Chorus: repeat 2X |
| undualate unduate mama, E.I. E.I. |
| Uh-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! What’s poppin' tonight |
| undualate undualate mama, E.I. E.I. |
| Uh-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! If the head right, Nelly there every night |
| We can gamble to the break of dawn, nigga |
| Money long, nigga |
| Pass up the skirt to tug at the thong, nigga |
| Some say I’m wrong, but fuck it I’m grown, nigga |
| If you ain’t bout money then best be gone, nigga |
| I’m flashy OH! double takes when you walk past me |
| Nasty, don’t be scared boo, go 'head and ask me |
| I drive fastly, call me Jeff Gord-on |
| In the black SS with the naviga-tion |
| See the blunt blaz-on, somethin smells amaz-on |
| I got a chick rollin up, half black and asi-an |
| Another one pag-in, tellin me to come home |
| Her husband on vacation and left her home alone |
| I used the V-12, powers; weight loss, powers |
| From Phat Farm to Iceberg Slim in one shower |
| Get a room in Trump Towers just to hit the 3 hours |
| Get the bitch up out the room cause she used the word ours, HEY! |
| Chorus |
| Aiyyo I smash-mouth a whole ounce, of that sticky |
| Wash my hands under a gold spout, when feelin icky |
| Let go off in a ho’s mouth, I ain’t picky |
| Start frontin when the shows out — whatchu mean?! |
| Twenty inches when they roll ouuuuuuut — come and get me |
| Big faces when they fold ouuuuuuut — is you wit me? |
| Don’t make me pull that 44 ouuuuuuut |
| I keep it closer when the dough ouuuuuuut |
| Then I slide up in the Escalade |
| Me and Ky gettin solid like the Ice Capades |
| And me and Heezy — frosty, Roger the Rabbit and Bugsy |
| You understand me, wrapped wrists like mummies |
| If you compare me to your local grocery |
| Then you’ll see I got more carrots than Aisle D |
| More bread than Aisle G, then bag and scan me |
| Sure like Al B, meet the 'tics in Maui, HEY! |
| Chorus |
| St. Louis y’all, uh, uh |
| Uh-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! |
| Uh, can you feel that? |
| Lunatics y’all, uh, uh |
| Uh-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! |
| Uh, uh, Uncle Phil up above y’all, uh, uh |
| Uh-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! |
| Yell it universal y’all, uh, uh |
| Uh-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! |
| Uh, uh, chillin chillin chillin with the crew y’all |
| Chorus fade out |