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    PLAY

    Something's gotta give!

    Yeah, you know what I'm sayin? Uhh
    Herring homes, unh, martel homes, carver homes, tekwood
    Martin luther king, bankhead

    Verse One: Big Boi

    Under-cover, over da hills and thru tha woods I go
    Like green lights, a southern nigga that's comin fo' yo' throat
    But not no guillotine see, we be them southern playas
    Remember the football socks, aerobic Reeboks and Decaturs, now
    You up to par and ready fo yo lesson
    I got an ounce of dank and a couple of drinks so let's crank up a session
    Like Tri-City high school, was pullin em in a broke down Rabbit
    I spit a couple of words and layin em down was just a habit
    Just like smokey, choking off da pee-wee that we rolled up
    Talkin about the click will get you laid down hella swoled up
    Hootie hoo slapped ya boyz across the cheek wit Isotoners
    And went to tell yo momma and yo pop that you was a goner
    Tell em Big Boi did it; I swear that nigga be rhymin
    Every lyric that he spit be turnin charcoals into Diamonds and Pearls
    Girl when you givin up them draws, cause
    I got a couple of niggaz down the hall
    That wanna hit it too, I'm not the type to be actin selfish
    Set it out and let it out and I'll be right back just like Elvis
    Cause the postman rings twice...
    Hey Mr. Postman....

    Chorus: repeat 2X

    power, power, I come gimme some
    tha deadly voice over drums, we from, ATL
    put tha SWATS SWATS on yo' car
    let's travel far, tha southern star shines

    Verse Two: Dre

    Everybody wanna get signed, but (here to tell you)
    record companies act like pimps
    Gettin paid off what we made when we the ones that's fly like blimps
    But ain't no Goodyear, I tell it like it is so I'm like look here
    Just willin to get what I deserve my kids to have a mother
    and a little house, with a dog in the backyard goin "woof-woof"
    Who knows what I'ma say soon's I leave this recording booth
    Poof, back in the real world where birds fly
    From Miami by way of Cuba to whoever wants to get that high
    There's clouds of clowns, seas of G's
    Pro-jects, packed with playas meditating on their knees
    Just to make them ends meet, like ground beef, you won't believe
    The shit that niggaz attempt cause they got other mouths to feed
    besides they own

    Chorus

    Verse Three: Big Boi

    There's some hoes in this house, damn right
    I'm thinkin about the way you skull me, guzz me
    Suckin me dry like deserts Mojave, Gotti, hotties and honeydips
    Likin the way you do me, screw me it make my money flip
    Shakin that ass for daddy puttin this gas off in my Cadi-llac
    Back, don't ever snap, packin the gats and pimpin whores
    Hors d'oevres, swerve, hit the curb because I'm reckless
    Back in the days when I was broke I'd snatch your fuckin necklace
    You ol' pussy-ass nigga... yeah

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    É permitida somente a visualização no site das letras de músicas encontradas aqui, vedada sua reprodução através de quaisquer outros meios (Lei 9610/98).Todas as letras de músicas são propriedade dos seus respectivos autores e divulgadas somente para fins educacionais.All lyrics are property and copyright of their owners. All lyrics are provided for educational purposes only.