| And we coming with the bump bump buuum!
|
| Early! |
| Yeah! |
| Uh! |
| It’s The Roc, Swishahouse and we Dumping on y’all hating ass niggas
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| And we hit yall with the Bump Bump buuum
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| Early! |
| Uh! |
| Yeah! |
| Uh!
|
| Y’all better keep your weapons close
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| It’s Philly and Paul Wall
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| And this is the way we ball bring the raw
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| To your city got them semis
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| If you really want war
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| We gon bring it to your doorstep
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| Vests and them hoodies
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| And we pop pop pop
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| Through your body
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| Put the rest in your fitted
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| And this is the way you fall to the ground
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| An’you shaking nigga
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| State prop cock game and we gun a hater down
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| And we take a hater’s pounds
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| And we sell a hater’s bricks
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| And we the main reason why they chicks is not around
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| Somebody tell them that they’re rockin’Houston
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| Swishahouse got that knockin’Houston we come and lock shit down
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| Real niggas stand up point em we gon gun 'em haters down
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| come around you hear that…
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| And all my real bitches step up come to wipe a player down
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| smoke a pound with him
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| Real niggas step up we gon gun 'em haters down come around
|
| you hear that…
|
| And all my real bitches step up come to wipe a player down
|
| smoke a pound with him
|
| I hear these haters talking seem like they’re getting louder
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| These sweet cupcakes softer than some clam chowder
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| I’m from the city to proudly serve crack rocks?
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| For twenty dollars get you higher than an astronaut
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| I keep a Glock in my state prop jeans
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| Floating on cloud nine goin’off codiene
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| I chuck a deuce to a hater
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| I’m on a mission for paper
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| I got Lil’Hawk with me serving dope fiends like a waiter
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| I’m on the south B with my boy do you
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| Big bank take little bank baby tell me what it do These boys talking loud but they ain’t saying a thang
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| But Paul Wall and Freeway will make 'em sang
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| It’s the Swishahouse state prop chain gang
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| .45 cal big Glock bang bang
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| I keep the tupperware tucked in my underwear
|
| Rain down thunder on these suckers make the clutter clear
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| Let’s get one thing clear I run with grizzly bears
|
| Bite you in your back and make you straighten out your chest hair
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| I’m 100 baby no time for playing games
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| I got a garden full of carats hanging in my chain
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| I keep a player bought my paper fuck a hater
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| Cause the real turn fake switching over like a crossfader
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| I’m squashing chatter climbing up the ladder
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| Cause my goal is to make my pockets fatter baby Paul Wall |