Whos Tha Man Lyrics by Mc Eiht

Whos 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 fuck 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 nigger 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 9-6-5 i'm clyde, my bitch 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, bitch 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? bitch touch down at 8
    My niggas 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 fucked up thinking snaps grow on trees
    Ain't no government given away free cheese
    And the bitch going through anything that floss on these d's
    Better watch out cause they might have you straight to your knees
    Have a nigga 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 bitches that's down
    Married to this mob

    Chorus...

    Money don't come easy
    24 hour stand offs pushes to clucks with ?hand off?
    No bitches 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 nigga 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

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