my thesis Well written topic Broken down into pieces I introduce, then produce Words so profuse It's abuse how I juice up this beat Like I'm deuce Two
He told me a different story then the one he trying to tell y'all Who? Hell naw, who? Hell naw I don't wan' diss my old dog so I'ma chunk a deuce for
G-wall, I know several lifers (Eastside!) Eight forty eights they was heavy in the Vipers (balliiiiin!) Six forty five, cherry and it's piped up The wrist forty
's how it go Guess, who's next up ta flex, no need ta introduce We holdin' down tha spot just like tha pimps do on the 40 deuce So here's the story,
me from afar, I'm the shit Scream at me, ?What it do, what it is?? (What it do?) It's Paul Wall baby, Swishahouse club rocker Chunk a deuce, sip a deuce
bored too, so what's up with that?? Wayne said, "Is anyone down to jack?? Now I can get the AK and you can get the pump But I don't want no deuce-deuce
"Forty H two O, I got a few ends, Can we do some kind of business mate?" It depends on how much you wanna spend And how much profit I'm gon' make What
I stabs a nigga, and Kool-Aid came out 'Cause his heart pumps Kool-Aid, so I mixed it with my Thunder chicken Barely livin' and smokin' headache with a deuce-deuce
you're wearin' Let's all be happy like bobby mcferrin And get loose and produce the funky juice And let's swing this shit like they swing a forty deuce
're wearin' Let's all be happy like Bobby McFerrin And get loose and produce the funky juice And let's swing this shit like they swing a forty deuce
hoody, and then I bust a sam goody Verse two: tash Bitches on my woody 'cause I likes to get the loosest I eat niggaz up and wash em down with deuce
Where MC's get seared and all spots blown And in this rap shit a nigga need to be thicky I fuck with the crew who downs the deuce, deuce Mickey's I'm
up your cities with the Alkaholik sticker 'Cause I feel like bustin' loose It's the wicked pain inflictor with the Mickey's deuce deuce Droppin' rhymes
burglars, party wit murderers Scandal big reelers, I sell coke to dope dealers Ask the stash dealers, so rash the gat peelers The time behind bars, ridin' in stolen cars Forty deuce
Upon a time for me was no joke though They knew I was crazy, so they labelled me Loco Khakis creased, golf hat, feelin sporty Low ridin and tossin up a forty
my Blood's out West But my shorties down South, ain't got forty for a house But they ride old schools, and put forty in they mouth Mix Sprite with a deuce