[Intro] Fuck a rubber band a nigga need a buncha birds (X4) [Over intro - Gucci Mane (Yo Gotti)] Yo, it's Gucci, brrrr, R.I.P. Pimp C mane, brrrr (This
with fours Hit the jackpot, blazin the raw - gettin bands in the pores Bitches and whores with dick in their jaws The frame drank sick of Valor, straight bandit
, word to ride, nigga, yeah Aiyyo, we four or five niggaz with furs on Up top gated up, big tables got the reserves on Blowin' on saxophones, the band
We gettin' money, man, I'll show you how to turn profit In the hood, they call me 'Joey, The Profit' First you cop it, then you cook it, then you chop
your neck a bloody fountain (Chorus 2x) Everybody everybody everybody run Murdering murdering murdering fun Swing swing swing Chop chop chop Swing swing swing Chop chop chop
hex all three of you muthafuckas we got bitches with bearded faces hunchback acrobatic mental cases serial murderin phsychopatchic's and little rednecks with hatchets,chop
lollipops I fuck redneck bitches at truck stops Clown cutters, much clown love Found a body in the bathtub, mmm, grub Fuck the police, fuck Ebin Price Fuck cop, pork chop
Murder Man Smokin' on the purple bad, pistol in my other hand Fuckin' with my rubber bands, get your ass murdered fast Chop you up and chop ya, then stuff
[Trick Daddy] We gon' let the band deal with this Ha ha, mmm-hmm M-I-A Style, heh, old school Uh hah.. Okay, shut up! [Chorus: Trick Daddy] Ah hah,
and get it You pussy motherfucker I'm from the city where they they tote glocks, chop rocks Ride spinnin' wheels and they'll steal ya car and send it to the chop
Admit, I did it from standing in rain with a gram Now I sliver and glitter, Jacob throw glaze on my hand Shit! D12, dont even know the name of my band
battle again? I'll turn, you and your mans, to my yesterday plans Oh damn, totin two pistols like Yosemite Sam Old man be grand, loud as the Southern band
the back and they'll see you've got all American pride Keep your eyes on the ground chemicals,gonna keep you from those lies Now you're part of the band
if every kid did it, can't you see What an icky, messy, no-fun world it would be? Yuck! Willie Wimple went a' walking And he chopped a tree here(?)
love my guitarist his chops from outer space he can make my three chords sound like eight all the things to those who wait take time to find your way to all the bands
you know, I'm fly You know, I'm fly, you know, I'm fly You know I'm fly as the sky Fly like a birdy, fly like a birdy Fly like a Yellow band, excuse
Your Looking To Stand I'm camouflage in the bushes, Fly in ya mind i'll show you how to look it, Rock's in tha band like OH GOD, MY GOODNESS, I'ma tell
, whatever fits the price Yo, she didn't need no man, she had the upper hand Walkin around with grands wrapped in rubber bands For real, she was colder