(Baby Beesh)
It`s your boy, Baby beesherelli mane,
La Velvet clika,
Representin` that yay area dogg,
Down South mane, Houston, Texas mane, with my smokin` cousin
(SPM)
Mister S-P baby
(Baby Beesh)
S-P-M baby boy, South Park Mexican,
With my nephew, young Happy P,
Man on the track, one love,
(SPM)
One time for that Ikie
(Baby Beesh)
Ikeman my boy, representin` that 7-1-3 clique mane,
Houston, Texas mane,
We fixin` to show you how we get down mane, check it out
Chorus (Baby Beesh & Ikeman):
(Baby Beesh)
Where I come from, the city of dank,
Where niggas shoot hop, snort, and smoke crank,
Where anything`s possible and nothin` fa sho,
High off Khadafi mixed with blow
(Ikeman)
Well I come from, the city of drank,
Where niggas drop tar, ride and drip paint,
Grip the grain, switch the lane,
Swingin` on them thangs,
Got the trunk with the bang cuz the South on there stayin`
First Verse (Baby Beesh):
Some of you G`s can`t help it,
We love our money green like the Boston Celtics,
They felt it cuz every saucy Chicano`s down with Latino Velvet,
Don`t get it twisted, we got some more in case you missed it,
Straight from the Buh-ay, where them niggas keep it playeristic,
Now every hour, a coward is devoured,
Some perkin`, off the powder, some slangin` go mental flowers,
Smokin` cavys in the Navi, or the four door fleetwood caddy,
Geekin`, while we tweekin` or smellin` the puporalli,
Valley jokers what we ran with,
And them haters just can`t stand it,
They frantic cuz us hispanics,
Gigantic like the Titanic nigga,
Seven seas, I`m tryin` to cop seven keys,
All folks with the 2-0-9`s got whole ones for eleven G`s,
So I ain`t passin` Baby Beesh all about that scrilla scratchin`,
Hooked up with the Ikeman now we robbin` in Guerilla fashion,
Eighteen with a bullet, we bumpin` totally insane,
I`d like to praise the Mac God for showin` me the game
Chorus
Second Verse (Ike Man):
Off the top, all us realas double R we goin` hard,
Down South we hit the bar, smokin` `dro up in the guards,
Foreign car we send low, bout my fetty and the dough,
For those that don`t know it`s three and a quarter for the bow,
Lime green lil` apartment, kind that make you wanna rhyme,
But oh, dollar shine, it takes time to make `em blind,
I`m on the grind to go and get,
I got my gangsta ready to spit,
I-K-E about my digits,
Feds want me cuz I did it,
I done flipped it into green, with my cousin` lil` beam,
We be hoggin` up the scene with our mugs on mean,
7-1-3, we coldest, from the jump they can`t hold us,
Got the bricks, got the boulders, let the World know it`s over,
I-K-E and S-P-M, and that Mexican Baby Beesh,
Down to make major cash from the bay to seven one tre,
That`s how we do it like some G`s,
Makin` money from these ki`s,
Every block we touch bleeds,
About to put this game on freeze
Chorus
Third Verse (SPM):
Cognac sipper, born to crack flipper,
Jugglin` hoes like my boy Jack Tripper,
Glass slippers, on my smoke ray Lac,
I was broke way back, walkin` down a train track,
Mary Jane sacks gave my ass a brain lapse,
Insane raps ridin` with strange cats,
Plain gats, nothin` special but do the job,
Rollin` `round tryin` to find someone new to rob,
A lot of what you smoke, a lot of what you snort,
Playin` crack bars seemed to be my favorite sport,
My only dance floor was the hot corner store,
Beat `em down, hol` `em up, that boy don`t want `em no more,
Chest cracker, neck snapper, don`t make the Mex act a,
Muthafuckin` fool on the best actor,
Lead blaster, I hope it hits you where it has to,
It`s the S-P-M sippin` syrup mixed with Shasta
Chorus
