Who's Tha Man Lyrics - Mc Eiht

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... 

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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 

Photos 

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