Who's Tha Man Lyrics
| Song | Who's Tha Man |
| Artist | MC Eiht |
| Album | Last Man Standing |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Allen, Tyler | |
| 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 |
| zuo ci : Allen, Tyler | |
| 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 965 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 pickup? bitch touch down at 8 | |
| My niggas got the pickup, 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 paypay 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 |
| zuò cí : Allen, Tyler | |
| 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 965 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 pickup? bitch touch down at 8 | |
| My niggas got the pickup, 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 paypay 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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