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Lyrics:
South Park Mexican: Uh, uhh pick up my voice a little bit Just a little man, just a little bit man, yo just a little bit dog, just a little bit, yeah Flippin' ex-hoe trippin'... oh shit.
Flippin' ex-hoe trippin' Got them new kicks from that boy scotty pippin' Still waitin' livin' skin off the chicken & you hoes already know what I'm sippin' Still a big dipper' Still a straight killer' Still unloadin' off that 18 wheeler' Nobody better' never ever ever Glass on my 'lac like that girl cindereller Hand on my 'retter Surf on the netter Lookin' for a shredder in a polo sweater Beat gets settled Straight from the ghetto Say you comin' back homeboy I keep espedo Hillwood TX, not many mexican's 'cept the one that got them 2600 engines Don't ask questions, don't give answers Sittin' at the bar cause I'm not a good dancer It's the day after, pray for me pastor Mix a little purple with the strawberry shaster Or the cream soda Rollin' in the cobra Muthafuckin' thug born the 5th of October Servin' that coka It's la vida loca Catch her at the club I'm a slap her then choke her Still a baller haulin' bought & I shot it Call it what you call it, more brown bags than sonic Man I'm abra cadabra Struggler not a straggler Bubbler not a babbler Hustler not a hastler Never been a bachelor Always been married To these fuckin' streets Stayin' long 'til I'm buried Now I'm a swang, I'm a swerve I think I'm seein' blurrs Wit my boy serge in the trunk watchin' spurs Wit my persian princess On 22 inches When I sleep she say that my trigger finger twitches I'm superstitious & I believe in ghosts So many hoes wanna be with the 'los I'm tweakin' on the muthafuckin' weed that I smoke Goin' 95 on my muthafuckin' boat Ridin' them waves Chunkin' up my tres Lobo call me up talkin' 'bout he want a raise Crime show pays Don't do braids, keep a low cut like that boy norman bates Rattles & it shakes, jumps & it brakes White candy paint look like the pearly gates Sellin' my tapes in 50 different states Fuck the radio cause you muthafuckers hate But it's all good, I'm from a small hood Tie his bitch ass up & bring him back to Hillwood In my levi's sag down to my lugs With a T-Shirt that say 'breeders not drugs' Be one of us, live in the rush Just put diamonds on my baby's hairbrush I fuck with the plus & not the minus & I might just let my black 9 bust & it goes like...
Chorus: Uchei: Uhh ya'll ain't ready for this Nuh-uh ya'll ain't ready for this Uh ya'll ain't ready for this, come on, you no ready for this.
South Park Mexican: I tightin' up my laces on my brand new stacy's Hug & kiss my babies then call up my crazy's Tryin' to make it through another day no easy Muthafuckers hate cause I'm on top like zz Young niggas think we out here playin' fuckin' games 'Til one niggas lookin' at the other niggas brains Laughed & you giggled about the words that I riddled Now we step in the coffin' rock hard & dick shriveled Hoppin' along in my '54 bomb Yes I hate pigs like them boys of islam Gone in the wind, not long 'til the end No more talk with my glock in the palm of my hand Alize at the mandolay Got a call they shot 2 the rest ran away That's how the shit gets doney in the deep south I'm in vegas watchin' vargas knock a bitch out Ice glisten ballitician hold it down & dirty Peace to all my fuckin' raza up in alberquerque Sign a bonus with the yerky now my house is roomy Niggas wanna do me but you bitches nothin' to me Understand my killers love makin' haters bloody Actin' buddy buddy softer than silly putty Hang by a rope & gut 'em like you do a goat & on his neck write this on a fuckin' note Bitch pissin' in the wind what began has begun Blast my heat once sweep 'em up then be done I'm one in a catrillion, muthafuckin' million Layin' in my bed gettin' head from a brazilian Mama still bitchin Gangsta's still listen I'm blowin' weed with them boys from new edition Man I'm ballin' Never ever fallin' Skip to my lou my muthafuckin' darlin' & it goes like...
Chorus: Uchei: Uh ya'll ain't ready for this Ya'll ain't ready for this Uh ya'll ain't ready for this Nuh-uh ya'll ain't ready for this, listen.
Uchei: So if you see 'em see 'em, go head tell 'em tell 'em Only music is my dope & I sell 'em sell 'em Or I slang 'em slang 'em It don't matter what you call it My shit so hot up in the hood you better record it Now some of ya'll niggas think my heart is so warm Cold muthafucker me, you don't want none muthafucker Have your whole crew ducka ducka It happens when I pull out my 9 milla placa Nigga whatcha be careful cause my blood gets hotter Chunk that bullet out my gun than stopper Remember when I used to be a mic wrecker By the grace of Yahweh I come to be the mic checker Now it's better, now that I'm makin' that chedder My belly stay full & my throat was never wetter Of Rebecca, meet me at the back stage letter Cause when I go down there' we're gonna go down to Jamaica.
That's what I'm talkin' about See ya later Uh ya'll ain't ready for this.
That was kinda tight wasn't it? 'Yeah' Alright.
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