Throw Em Up Lyrics - Master P

[Master P] 

Chorus x4 

Throw em up if you a soldier, if you dodging these niggas, these bitches and 

the rollers 

The clock hits twelve, I'm on the grind 

Punching your code if you want these nickles, quarters and dimes 

I got the ghetto soed up like mack diamonds and windy 

And I got more sealers than JC Pennies 

Throw it up if you a soldier 

But if you a punk motherfucker talkin shit and working with the rollers 

You better duck down quick when the tank pops 

Cause we be slanging automatic fucking slangshots 

I went from halves, to hoes with weed to working water 

From selling grams, to motherfuckin quarters 

From quarter keys, to really tapes and cd's 

Not every nigga in the hood knows me 

Uhhhhhh, but getting rowdy 

Stayin TRU to the game, and still bout it bout it 

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Chorus x4 

I'm a represent my hood till I die 

And when I'm gone put it on the blimp and let it ride 

Third ward, calliope, nigga Master P 

A ghetto nigga, live and made history 

Aint no mugging, just thugs with me 

Aint no hugging, aint no loving P 

These ghetto heroes is dead and gone 

That's why niggas in the ghetto live like Al Capone 

I be breaking niggas like ice in Iceland 

Crushing niggas like sevens in dice games 

Nickel plated meters knocking down doors 

With hoes and gators, jaboes and polo's 

So watch your back when you hustling crack 

Cause jackers take your life away and aint no coming back 

Uh, I seen alot of movies, but this shit is real 

And only cars get brand new grills 

Photos 

Chorus x4 

[Kane & Abel] 

Automatic gats for combat what we pack 

Flip niggas like flapjacks, with oz's and crack 

We killing with tatooes our guns and balls 

The car with the tek-nine in my droor 

Went from selling double up's to going double platimum 

For selling crack and, jack and gun clapping and rapping 

Watch me smoke my little weed, got my drink and bud 

What's up to all the slangers, the bangers, bloods and cuz 

I was a soldier, I still remain a soldier 

A cobra, even sold my mamma a bowl a 

Down a fifty of hennesee and blow a bag of doshia 

Quarter keys with five G's which a hustle for D 

Now selling gold LP's, that's a hustling for cheese 

G's don't give a fuck till the world blow up 

Game over, Kane and Abel, no limit soldiers 

[Master P] 

No Limit soldiers, I thought I told ya! 

Chorus 4X