Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mash for Our Cash, artist - E.S.G.. Album song Boss Hogg Outlaws, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 18.02.2002
Record label: SoSouth
Song language: English
Mash for Our Cash |
Ha, hold up out the Shop looking good |
Know I’m tal’n bout, Rayface out the Shop |
Slim, them boys out the Shop |
It’s going down, know I’m saying |
Me, C-Styles and Big Sin, 2002 |
Drop L-Dogs looking good, this how it go down |
Know I’m saying, er’body acting bad |
Believe that Troy, this how we gon do it ha |
Man I’m in my drop-drop, rolling on the chop-chop |
Boppers gon bop-bop, but it don’t stop-stop |
Third Coast’s finest, feel what we spitting |
Like a platinum Rolex, we just roll we ain’t ticking |
Balling in the mix, gotta get the drank mix |
Ooh fool, this is what we do |
Throw up a deuce, then we just smash |
E, Slim and C watch us mash for our cash |
I top drop on 4's, and pop trunk on hoes |
I’m closing candy do’s, free on blow snow |
From the Tre to the Fo', in my topless dancer |
It’s that elbow pouncer, yellow bone enhancer |
I can make you catch cancer, cause I smoke so much |
I stack do' so much, I wreck the flow so much |
I get much respect, when I come down your block |
And what you call rags, but we call drops |
When my trunk unlock, the whole block gon stop |
Cause I’ma make the boppers bop, and your mama call the cops |
I got five T.V.'s, playing DVD’s |
While me and three G’s, blowing on three trees |
And it’s 80 degrees, top dropping weather |
The weather done got better, I’m lied back on leather |
A young trend setter, whenever I ride |
I’m top dropping worldwide, representing H-Town |
I’m out the Shop don’t stop, my top dropped for the summer |
Everything dipped in chrome, from my rims to my bumper |
Low pro Yokohamas, eight fifteen’s knock |
(*beeping*), remote control air shocks |
Trunk pop hang flip, flop I’m on the tip-top |
Two liter Sprite, bout to hit the sip spot |
Haters get got, got a stash spot for Glock |
Infrared dot, protect the rocks in my watch |
Dump it like a Sasquatch, when it chop your block |
Nuts the size of watermelons, did you see tell him we hot |
Got the game in a headlock, we coming through |
While them haters shoo-shoo, we run choo-choo's |
Like hoo-doo, we put hexes on niggas |
T.V.'s in the headrest, DTS’ing these niggas |
Best in Texas nigga, so back-back fool |
We ride with heat, the size of Shaq’s shoes |
Drop top trunk pop, I’m mashing fast |
Pop my trunk I show my glass, I’m acting a damn ass |
A screen on my dash, size of computer screens |
You can hear the six fifteen’s, and the V-dozen machine |
I’m pulling up mean, and my candy still dripping |
Mix the Sprite with the lean, and I’m still sipping |
Got Mr. Q-Y, and them haters set tripping |
I got the Lexus back, and I’m S-Class flipping |
I swang to the lot, to get the drop PT Cruiser |
Throw the boy out the roof, representing Bogalusa |
We slamming E.S.G., we got’s to get the Cardiers |
Cause we ball like Jason, Dujan and Battier |
Sixteen-five for a bird, so nigga quit hating |
In Texas they ride swangs, in Louisiana it’s daytons |
Screens fall no hesitation, my trunk still shaking |
And the four 18's, got my Neons breaking |
Drop, tops |
Swang on bops, fuck cops |
Whoa, no |
That’s how Dirty South niggas roll |