| 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 |
Informazioni sulla canzone In questa pagina puoi trovare il testo della canzone Mash for Our Cash, artista - E.S.G.. Canzone dell'album Boss Hogg Outlaws, nel genere Рэп и хип-хоп