Poppin Tags Testo

Testo Poppin Tags

Laura Pausini nuda sul palco, incidente hot durante un concerto in Perù
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[Intro/Chorus: repeat 2X] And we gon' stay hustlin on that block until we caught And we gon' stay showin off that jewelry that we bought And we gon' stay leavin out the stores with heavy bags Cause we poppin tags, pimpin we be poppin tags! [Verse One: Jay-Z] We arose, let's go "So Fresh So Clean" like 'Kast Jay-Z be poppin tags Leavin the mall with heavy bags You know the boy got a love for the cash Aw fuck, there he go again Talkin bout hoes and dough again Yup! -- Can't hold it in I'm surprised I got so much dough to spend But, back when I was poorer then You wasn't focusin, about the dough I spend But I was holdin in, I was a roller then I was a baller back then, all of that man Fall back, I fought that What would you do if you was in my shoes? Leave dudes in the rearview V-12 engine, corners spinnin Twinkies shinin, pinky ring Armadale, nigga stinky stink Top, down, my cash is up Gold chain, I don't give a fuck Gold brain'll get you in the truck ma That's right, you in luck ma You see me cruisin down, better step inside Ain't enough room to fit you all in the ride First come, first served basis You know Hov' be goin to nice places That's right, and I'm droppin cash Leave the mall with garbage bags Gucci this, Prada that Roll witcha boy you'll be poppin tags [Chorus] [Verse Two: Twista] It's a party when I go up in the sto' Shoppin while I'm zooted off the dro' Rollin like a nigga that just came up on a mill' and I got 'em sweepin and pickin up tags off the flo' Bag full of clothes I remember havin rocks in the hall on the glimmer with the glock by the ball Servin up a jab and workin security 6 to 6 Then it's straight from the block to the mall Now what's on the wall? Go ahead and treat yo'self When you come up on some cheddar better pop that tag Like when I dip off in the Prada then I go off to the lot lay the paper down and cop that Jag I got a console full of ammunition and funds Mink Roc-a-Wear and some guns Petty in a fresh pair of jumps, blo-packs and Bo Jax and Air Maxes, throw back some ones, no max for none (When I go up in the sto' a nigga never get enough) I'm a baller and if you want it come and get it now (Nigga come to a race with a car you won't catch up) And the Twista kinda wicked when I spit it now I be choppin up cheddar with Kanye Chop a little cheddar up with Jay Chop it up with the O-to-the-Kizay Poppin big tags with the flow and the dough, we get bi-zay! [Chorus] [Verse Three: Killer Mike] Uh-huh, whattup? Tell you somethin bout me.. My throwback game is whiffle wicked Saint Patties day, green pinstripe, number 20 Mark Spitz'n Jersey ooh-wee with the matchin Nu*Wear fitted White boys say my style is bitchin Keepin coke in the kitchen Keep a glock that will shock and bring the rest tucked underneath my Michelin S I, travellin, handlin with a forty-five cannon It's tucked in my Marc Buchanan Extra clips and shells in the lambskin Two deep by Pelle Pelle Westside how they felly fell More G's on me, than a late 80's Gucci leather worn by the great Rakim himself Stitch my Dapper Dan oh man with the gun in hand I leave your blood squirting No offense, I'll put your face on the chest of a sweatshirt drawn by Shirt Kings I been fucking, a hustle, married to a racket since the first Air Jordan's and Starter jackets I slept with a package, under mattress I carry guns heavy speakeasy, slight with the fight words I'll put somethin hot through your motherfuckin iceberg Got a project chica, named Rica She keep a purse full of dro' reefer Small, pinkies like that Talk 'til the paper fat I rock somethin, roll chief +Sacks+ like Daddy Fat! [Chorus] [Verse Four: Big Boi] Pop tires in reverse, you'll be needin a nurse Leave you layin on your back in a Cadillac hearse Now your momma in all black with a matchin purse I know you wanna blow up, but a funeral hurts What's worse, you can hit the mall and ball 'til you fall Have to make a collect call, but your cell cut off Trot to the mailbox thinkin a check but the mail's run short No more MD, DD, LD That means Movie Date, Dinner Date, Lunch Date, help me please My sheets is gone Long bread to the short bread, word is bond Meticulously pimpously serve the song Act a damn donkey Like the pilgrims when they popped a tag on the indians home Drop top rag-o with the weed gone Chillin, bags in the trunk full of FEO Schwartz for the chill'uns Spent a few shillings Sip a few chickens, lick a few kittens, just kiddin A fresh bowl of milk is in the fridge and Can you pop the tags on the honeycombs Or are you actin mad cause the money done slowed, down, just a little bit Dipped, poked out, did some shull-bit Actin like a pitfall bull-pit Dead game is the pul-pit Leave a motherpumper with his John Doe toe tag clipped Imperial classic, a lyrical thrashin A miracle happenin Jay-Z, Killer Mike and Big Boi rappin and rhymin and smabbin Pop that tag on some of this game Holla-tic, swallow and keep the change [Chorus]

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