Drop Ya Thangs

[Chorus]

Drop ya thangs and just box

Nigga just drop ya thangs and just box

Nigga just drop ya thangs and just box

Nigga just drop ya thangs and just box

[Verse One: JT]

Yo, I hit the party in my t-shirt and tennis shoes

They all watchin in they Hot Boys and church suits

Actin tough in the club ain't gon' get you home

Gettin drunk off of Patron just gon' get you domed

Still steppin on my shoes, boy this nigga happy

This nigga thank he Lil' Jon and his partner Scrappy

Goin dumb with his bitch so he don't like me

This ain't the South boy, we ain't crunk we go hyphy

You gotta know the rules, player let it go

You get to trippin my nigga you gotta hit the do'

Rollin up this eight-nine gram I'm tryin to make a plan

Tuggin on yo' main bitch hand, tryin to make a friend

This time for escapade only make the tec a-spray

I'm in the parkin lot, standin by the Escalade

You got a problem we ain't fightin like a man

One-on-one with the Fig', get yo' face in the sand, nigga

[Chorus]

[Hook: JT]

Nigga you a bitch wit'cho gun, snitch wit'cho gun

Still get found in a ditch wit'cho gun

Bitch wit'cho gun, snitch wit'cho gun

Still get found in a ditch wit'cho gun

[Verse Two: JT]

Yo, Fig' never play with them guns, no you hear me

Fig' ain't shot nuttin up but kill spirits

Fig' ain't the one to be, scared of the losses

One-on-one fightin for stripes with right crosses

Uppercuts and heatbutts to get a head rush

Bitch niggaz rather kick back, and let they lead bust

I been a pitbull since Fila {?} and Kenny Ken

Used to chuck 'em by the corner sto' whoever win

Them was my O.G.'s, and I was just a B.G.

Whoever want to see me, Figgaro can {?}

But now we got them old niggaz that bust with they tommy

But caught without they tommy get rushed like salami

Cause everybody tired of them R.I.P.'s

We 'bout to bring this fightin back mayne to all our streets

Now, cowards wanna pack and, killers wanna cruise and

Real niggaz stand alone mayne and do what we do

I wanna bust you but homey let me ask you

Why you wanna play with that gun, and make me blast you

Moms all cryin and shit, she gotta ask you

{?} better to save on caskets you dumb nigga

[Chorus + Hook]

[Verse Three: JT]

Oh boy! Old friends like to make up and get cavi

Hell nah, she in the club wit'cho baby daddy

She got the coat on he bought you for yo' birthday (oh no!)

You kickin back, I'm 'bout to clown him in the worst way (bitch)

Team on preem' like he hangin out with 'Pac brother

And you a boss for not cuttin him with the boxcutter

And it was cool 'til this chick really got to trippin

Spittin drink in yo' face, boy she popped up pimpin (what?)

Zoked out like, fat boy you can't breathe

Bounce back and grab that trick by her fuckin weave

Bring her to the flo', teach her 'bout the Get Low

She gon' really know, mob her on the danceflo'

[Chorus + Hook]

[JT]

Yeah I gotta acknowledge them fo' carloads of HP niggaz

that came to Fillmoe for y'all one-on-ones mayne, and y'all got it mayne

Niggaz put the guns down and after that nigga it was real big

They get stripes for that, nigga, special shoutout nigga

to them three young Sunnydale niggaz

Nigga that was surrounded by ten Fillmoe niggaz mayne

And all y'all wanted was one-on-ones and y'all got it nigga

Stripes for that!

[Chorus + Hook]