Street Tax

First of all I'm a T-H-U-G

Boobonic nigga, who the fuck you be?

If you don't really want this block then move over

so you don't get big weight and lose it like Oprah

caught a case down South in V.A. court

the game change every year like EA Sport

you see now they got platinum, mad you got gold?

my corner's like the Beatles nigga, get your rock and roll

niggas mad 'cause the Feds stay on me 'cause they in cars

mad 'cause I oversee the Projects like A&R's

try not to do hits myself, I order that

while you cooked Four and a half and got a quarter back

you play the tough guy role good, I ought to clap

and did alot of rappin' too, I should've bought a track

I had to check this comb in your rug, checkin' for soil

got popped while you was under your hood checkin' your oil.

Verse 2: (The Clipse)

I graduated from Eight balls to blow thats cake size

match me grand for grand and lets make these stakes rise

mahavaji rich, in Egypt with eight wives

while my fam rocks links and medallions thats plate size

you up against The Clipse, believe theres no chance

what you feel about hollows piercin' through your throat glands?

see, I sweet talk the Devil, take him on a slow dance

while your hardcore posse's is extras and road hands

get your Fifty deep, us rollin' in Convoys

you fuckin' with grown Men and y'all is young boys

love double action, pack anything with loud noise

as we kidnap your partners and use 'em as decoys.

Chorus -

If y'all ain't got guns (I don't represent you)

if you ain't got coke (I don't represent you)

if you ain't got dough (I don't represent you)

fuck ya clique and that bullshit you been through

(repeat)

Verse 3: (Mr. Mr.)

I never hold back, I cock back and twist ya

I never been shot mothafucka, it's Mista

I scream who's coke? who's whip is that?

I want the main coke source, not just the crack

I want the one who cook it up and make you push the pack

you don't like that we cut at you nigga? bust back

I never been the one to talk and chill shit out

I shoot 'till it jam and the clip don't spit out

you heard I'm 'bout to run in your house? you better get out

Mista take stacks and coke and sort shit out

whoever don't like it wanna come then come

and you smart mouth niggas get popped with dum-dums.

Verse 4: (The Clipse)

Who the fuck wanna see us?

chrome double barrel heaters

mothafuckas better bow when they greet us

red green and black strapped on Gucci wife beaters

with platinum paint jobs on 3.8 liters

two ways to live, cocaine or showbiz

knee deep in crime rhyme, in coke? my shoulders

what you know about hidin' your bricks in Folgers?

with Grandmothers and Aunts as primary holders

whassup lover? tell 'em take aim or take cover

'cause we poppin' cross hand and christen your little Brother

eagle eye block strutters composed of Baby Mothers

how they ???? we seen double.

Chorus 2x