| I remember when he was a young boy, I knew his mama for years
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| Now he wanna be, wanna be a player, I remember him
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| Had a snotty nose, couldn’t know how to tie his shoe
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| Now he wanna be, a drug dealer, so called pimp
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| And his macking game, ain’t all that
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| I knew his father… father wasn’t all that
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| (Pimp party) pimps (pimp party) hoes
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| (Pimp-party, pimp-party, pimp-party, pimp-party)
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| Oh shit, yo, it’s a pimp convention going on in New York City, boy
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| Yo, you best to get down, we over here in New York City
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| With the baddest, the finest, finest broads out here in New York City
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| I tell you boy, we got ass shaking, we got titties shaking
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| All here, my brother, we gotta come on down, to the pimp convention
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| Pimp party, chillin' at a pimp party (oh oh oh)
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| Come and ride with me, where the pimps hang
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| Big chains, wrapped around necks, specs, under slick rings
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| Burri' bird los', tan timbs, throwbacks
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| Heavy cognac, stains on cherry fur coats
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| Most chicks drink, almost every bird choke
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| But the party over, when that dessy bird smoke
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| You already hold folks, it’s a don affair
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| Find a freak with blondish hair, and palm aware
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| Got my ex-cons in here, with arms to bare
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| I’m the next, starved for beer, the bomb this year
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| Yeah, dough we get, that 'dro, we click, that after
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| Shows, we rip, them hoes, get pimped in fashion
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| Mo' get sipped, and clothes get stripped, we smashin'
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| Our boa constrict', deflictin' big compactions
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| We ain’t leavin' til we rip every last dime
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| Pimp never had blind, bitch better have mine, have mine
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| Oh shit, yo, the fucking Bishop Don Juan
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| White Mo, Jody, muthafuckin' Ribbon Shift
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| What up my nigga, yo, it’s a pimp party
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| Up in this bitch, boy… we got the pimps to the left
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| And all, youknowhatimsayin, we got the hoes to the right
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| And shit, we got pimps in front of me, I got pimps in back of me
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| Yo, it’s gotta be a muthafuckin' pimp party, man
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| Yo, why the fuck your jewels shining like that, man
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| Gold ass creak, bigger than hell, man
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| Yo, that fur coat you got on my brother, yo, word is bond
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| The illest, man
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| Yo, I leave the lab, ghetto fab, from toe to head
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| Chillin' in some of the codest red
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| You know I leave the soldier’s bread
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| You know I cock back the hammer, muthafucka, better hold ya head
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| Now it’s gator and ostrich convention
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| And I got the mack of the year, spot milked
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| In this tear drop silk, it’s pimpin'
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| Got the beaver skin limped in
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| Respect robe with the best hoes in pink mink
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| Sweatin' my ever wish, like I Dream of Jeannie
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| So they all walk around in g-string bikini
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| A g' thing, believe me, not everyone’s able
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| I’m gettin' bread off the book, under the table
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| I’m gettin' head off the hook, under the table
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| Pour my bottle, bitch, sippin' on a bottle of Crys'
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| High rollers in this joint, that’s been pimpin'
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| Since pimpin', been pimpin', been pimpin'
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| Hollywood to Detroit
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| Yo that’s your Pink Cadillac parked out front
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| Yo, whose Rolls Royce is that
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| Yo, hold up, who just pulled up in that Bentley, hard, right there?
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| Oh shit, these pimps done went crazy
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| They done tripped over New York City
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| We gonna have a new pimp convention in New York City, today
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| What’s going down, out here, yo where Foxy Brown, where Pam Grier?
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| Yo, somebody tell me something, I’m bout to lose my mind
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| We got all this good shit out here, the flyest women
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| The baddest players, players among players
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| Players don’t even know they players yet
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| The whole nine yards… |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Pimp Party , by - Mathematics. Song from the album Love Hell or Right ( Da Come Up), in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп