(Billy Cook)
Oooooh-oooh, Iiiiiiiiii`m so throwed, in the game
In the two triple O, Po-Yo, Billy G, aaaaaaaay
[Hook: Billy Cook - 2x]
I`m so thoed in the game
All the haters wanna know my name
I`m pushing weight, to leveling the game
Open up your eyes, and see the fame
[Big Pokey]
I`m so, thoed in the game
Blood and sweat, got a nigga feeling the pain
Moving like a freight train, and ain`t looking back
Trying to make the big head stack, feel that
Open your eyes, I`m a wolverine on the rise
Mobbing like Wise Guys, my eyes on the prize
Recognize, it`s a hell of a feeling
It`s cathedral ceilings, I`m building and shuffling shilling
Trying to touch a million, `fore my time is up
I ain`t touched it yet, so I ain`t blind enough
And the playa haters agitated, cause the figgas
I done calculated, I put it in they face laminated
Nonstop, let em know my guns chop
And if it`s on, I`ma make they lungs stop
Snitches, I`ma snatch they tongue out
Oooh yeah, know I`m talking bout
[Hook: Billy Cook - 2x]
[Big Pokey]
I`m a playa, lose corners checking my trap
Hitting gaps like Warren Sapp, trying to make something happ`n
Day for day with it, on the block getting paid with it
Twenty fo` seven, I stay with it
I don`t play with it, I pump it nigga
Laws come dumping, all the neers gate and jumping nigga
Get my bail on, head home and get my cell phone
So I could re-up, and get my mail on
This ain`t the first time, I lost my do`
Or toss my do`, as long as I ain`t lost my hoe
Can`t cry over spilled milk, just jump on my game
And make my gears shift, real swift
I`m a threat, one of the realest you ever met
If I`m trading a set, with a brick and some wet
In the big body Lex on dubs, pop pushed up
Sitting low on the dubs, nigga what
[Hook: Billy Cook - 2x]
[Big Pokey]
All I need is a three beam, and coffee mug to shake
Big bag of weight, compressed and duct taped
Peep the print on it, K-9 can`t get a scent on it
Bust that hoe down, and let the fleas get bent on it
My hustle, I`ve been known it for deep
Keep my game concrete, cement under my feet
Head up, moving in the right direction
Knowing I can make a mill, with the right connection
Mob Style through Texas, a A-1 selection
And I spit the truth, like a sinner in confession
Hauling wessins, waiting for something to jump
First nigga to bump, will catch a hot one in his gum
Get your paper by all means, gotta survive
Working this crack of construction, from nine to five
But it`s my time to shine, I`ma blind they eyes
Knocking my rides off like french fries, supersized
[Hook: Billy Cook - 2x]
