DJ Slip - Who's Tha Man lyrics

Geah Hey (c'mon) To the full degree (c'mon, geah check it out) (check it out) We 'bout it Gettin' that paper We 'bout it Check it out Federalies gaffling up so keep it tight These songs to do wrong so f** being right Late nite hype's the fiends Nobody serves 'em better to the letter We gets the chedder To the way back days Where the Half Ounce lays Gun tucked by the nuts As the one time struts Gets my bail on cause I ain't tryin' to get caught around here Be another n***a locked up for the next 10 years No Shapiro, no ?Sapino?, big bambino Roulette spends 20 G's in the casino Hits the blackjack decked in Armani (In a 9-5-6 I'm Clyde, my b**h is Bonnie) Too sweet Better yet too clean, pickin' the paper Takin' you there like the Staples, but they ain't catchin' no vapors You can't see me, nobody I trust Only the Half Ounce smokers get no cheese like us I said do you got paper? Check it out I said we got paper, no doubt uh Get your scrilla anyway you can Floss around town, b**h who's the man... To the days When I used to keeps my stash in the bush Nowadays be clientele with parents that push In my drop top with the laptop keeping up president straight Ok, who gots the pick-up? b**h touch down at 8 My n***as got the pick-up, the pager starts ringing It's payday, ho's know, that's why they start singing Dollar bills y'all And me throwing away pleas Fools got me too f**ed up thinking snaps grow on trees Ain't no government given away free cheese And the b**h going through anything that floss on these D's Better watch out cause they might have you straight to your knees Have a n***a stretched out to the first degree Not me - drivin' planes to big yachts It's getting kinda hectic, I'm shaking the spot Chill ride, never pop, work this job, cold b**hes that's down Married to this mob Chorus... Money don't come easy 24 hour stand offs pushes to clucks with ?hand off? No b**hes ever ran off With my pocket full of gold cause we got plenty of Tecs to unload My perils bring paradise West Side till I die, uh Pocket full of ice No Vice Squads Ho's still Walks the boulevards Pimp scenes, Mac Mall and Willie Green Got a feather in my black hat nobody can't touch Paper pretty much that's with Starsky & Hutch Give me the fed time Locked away won't be nice, peep a n***a stretched out with federal life Hard times No way out, better surrender But I got clout to stay out till next September D.A. I'll pay-pay fly away To another country that won't extradite my stay Me and a little senorita by the bay Pounds of yay' Mr. Tony ?ole? And ain't nobody got paper like this Geah Chorus... Half Ounce in the house Half Ounce in your mouth And ain't nobody got paper like this Geah