Chorus:
Comin` Up Comin` Down,
That G in H-Town,
South Bound as I clown,
Come around blaze a pound
(x4)
First Verse:
Well let me jump in this funk, with a pump and fake,
Give me five funky dollars you can bump my tape,
Cuz my flow come reala than a dealer servin` killa,
Ain`t nobody trilla, Still a body chilla,
Feel a millimeter comin` quicker than a cheetah,
Me drop you on your peta,
Then snatch your senorita,
I be the creepa, back street sweeper,
Want a pound of reefer, hit me on my beeper,
Leaf of tha Ganga, make me really want`cha,
Dip me up in water, fried with me sauncha,
Got`cha, me glock pop pop on your drop top,
Tha way I dodge cops like the rock in hop scotch,
Drop a pig, I can dig deep in your terrordome,
Smoke on my square alone, don`t know one care at home,
Pair of chrome gats, blow backs on tha sidewalk,
I got my glock poppin` hot rocks in your body, party-hearty,
Lodi Dodi Carley, your Daddy smoke like Bob Marley,
Sorry I`m hardly the one you should learn from,
Everywhere I turn somebody wanna burn one,
It`s the cursed son worse than the first one,
When me gat burst to the nurse or the hearse,
Cuz I shoot`em in the booty man, local Hillwoodian,
Choppin` on a cookie, Mama put me in the Looney bin,
Could have been a better man, up in NeverNeverLand,
Jesus`s helpin` hand, reason this record jam,
Never ran, never will,
Still chill in Hillwood,
Damn sure feel good,
Livin` in a real hood
Chorus
Second Verse:
Now you can work on knees,
You can jack for keys,
I cut my cheese,
And get t stackin` G`s,
Drinkin` daquiri`s, and ain`t no jackin` these,
I got slack in the front and the back of me,
It`s a tragedy, I was raised on streets,
Blazed on sweets, and sprayed posses,
Costly profession, learned my lesson,
Bout` Impressin` my click with Smith & Wesson,
Addressin` Ghetto issues,
When I sold me crack, had me Mom goin` through a box of tissues,
But if I was in his shoes, I`d probably still lose,
It`s in my blood to kill fools,
Him choose death when he disrespect,
Inject my Tec, and then I press eject,
The Mex will check any clique that trips,
It don`t make sense talkin` lip to clips,
Which way to run, where do you hide?
Boo-YAH! Ooh y`all almost died,
Now take a ride with me, through the deep blue sky,
Here take a hit, let me get you high
Chorus
