| Put your money on, put your money on me
|
| Big Shots, Backdo' Lil' Joe the shizzit
|
| Put your money on me, I move like a half a ki'
|
| Coming down, in the J-A-G
|
| Represent for the S.U.C., I know these boys wanna get to me
|
| But you know, it ain’t no catching me
|
| Now, who wanna be next up
|
| Like Heins, got these niggas playing catch up
|
| Seven albums and counting, my whole hood standing tall like a mountain
|
| Smoking herb flipping birds, sipping syrup out the fountain
|
| Feel me, now who wanna step in the ring
|
| The niggas with the most bling, and the ching-ching
|
| Ding-ding, round one
|
| Knocking niggas off they feet, is the outcome
|
| Now where we from the Southside, we put them blades on a ride
|
| And roll buck hide, we put them screens on the inside
|
| But this time, we ain’t cutting no slack
|
| Few niggas is some copycats
|
| Put your money on me
|
| Call folk and set it, playa we can bet it
|
| Clear your whole debit account, you’ll regret it
|
| We be private jetted, supreme unleaded
|
| Bet against us, you look real pathetic
|
| We be authentic, you be synthetic |
| I ball for Pittsburgh, like Bettis
|
| Like Bugs Bunny, carrots and lettuce
|
| Warner Brother bunny, boys down in Texas
|
| Put your money, where your mouth is
|
| Botany, Houston Texas Dirty South kids
|
| See the cash on the table, Big Shots be the label
|
| Soldiers like the Marines, or the Naval
|
| Top streak, keep a Glock heat
|
| My niggas got more gold, than a swap meet
|
| Big Jaguars, been had cars
|
| Peace to Big Daz, he behind fat bars
|
| Put your money where your mouth is, Sugarland is where the vault is
|
| Cloverland, is where the South is
|
| I talk shit, cause my money is long
|
| Money trail from the dome, to the front of my home
|
| Everything that I own, I flaunt on chrome
|
| Paper tags and pay cash, when I jump in the zone
|
| My money is strong, cause ain’t with that spending shit
|
| Invested in my hood, like my name was Merrel Lynch
|
| It’s that Will Gates, with mills in steel crates
|
| Diamonds on chill, princess cut and grill plates
|
| The Chemist, put your money on me
|
| Like you put them Giovannis, on that black Humvee
|
| We them superstar niggas, that these hoes come see |
| Bend over let me see it, like my boy Bun B
|
| We ball to sun deep, bitches we done three
|
| For all my homies, put your money on me |