| Yeah they know what time it is.
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| Russel Lee in here with Happy P.
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| Paul Wall and Chamillionaire.
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| Man, it’s going down.
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| Ay, it look like a G in the knot but, it’s not, it’s three
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| Time is money, you don’t wanna chase the clock with me
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| I squat in the drop, not a dirty spot to see
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| Stand on top of my dough in the desert, and spot the sea
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| My money’s tall, I been born to stack chips
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| Ignore my taxes, frame on the lack list
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| Hop on the mattress to get pornographic
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| Make a move on the chick, and move on to that sis
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| Hits, Chamillionaire he raps
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| So she lifts up the shirt show the bra with two straps
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| But how ironic is that, cause the boy can do that
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| I lift up my shirt, so the boy got two straps
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| Gotta strap up, I gotta be safe sexin
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| So I strap up, I gotta keep a weapon
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| It’s Koopa protectin my health cause so many girls call me boo
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| Im scared of myself, haha
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| But they lucky, get the chedder and buck
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| Cause me and Lucky we both be tryin a get in a vault
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| Make bronze money turn greener than the incredible hulk
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| But I’m pain in full, vato what you thought… Koopa
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| Believe that, money ain’t nothin.
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| Specially you bout yo business.
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| Ay, Russ let em' know how these playas roll.
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| I come here to let you know, just how us playas roll
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| These boys betta pay what they owe, cause I gotta keep my money long
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| Gotta keep on hustling, can’t keep on struggeling
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| My life, my feddi, my niggas, my family and thats all I know
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| Who make yo head bob like Marley and stay Brown like Charlie
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| Money to throw away with more green than Tommy
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| And I’m still on my toes, I got paper to wash
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| I keep girls every where from L.A. to the Bronx
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| I got em passing out flyers, cause you know I’m no dummy
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| I don’t play football but you feel my homecoming
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| Im throwed, call me Jimmy «Superfly» Snuka
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| Its funny my trunk keep doin the hooka hooka
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| Labels keep callin cause they like my style
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| Im so fly, I gotta a million frequent flyer miles
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| I want her and her friend, cause I heard they dike
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| Im at the bar with Paul, and play thursday night
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| Chain glowing like a Darth Vader sword
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| Full of that high grade bombay de’jour
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| Im just a playamade mexican and my pants stay starched
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| Traded in the Bently, for a black made bomb
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| Im all about stackin green
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| Im tryin a get whats in your wallet and the back of them jeans
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| But theres more to life than, just facts and lean
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| Lil momma’s know I’m the mack of the team
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| Gotta, fly honey dip on my siiide
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| Pimp juice drippin up off my striiide
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| Big swanges and vogues on my riiide
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| And a college education on my smiiile
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| There ain’t nothin new under the sun
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| Im getting my paper, this ain’t just for fun
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| I been on the grind since I was one
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| I was in day care, hustlin gum
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| So, I’m splurgin half my leisure
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| I got mo' ice than yo grocers freezer
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| And the rims keep getting steeper
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| Till' I’m old geezer, dodging the grim reaper |