But my hina' hollerin' release me Prime time like shines on the high mimes Hellafied rhymes, huh, you rewind twenty-five times Another fool puttin' down the truth, You can't fuck with the riddla' on the roof Mista', go get her, kick the mo' better If she wanna go, fuck the ho, let her The wanderer, hill wood hustler, Turn your back on your gail and i, uh, straight clown in my h-town Is you hoes really ready for the take down? Run dmc, krs-one, massspice 1, Herschelwood hardheadz, tolo g, We, put the streets on beats Dj quik, big fifty snipe, criminal rage, life, n. On the underground nation, layin' foundation The biggest problem that h-town's facin' Did a lot of wrong, but mom, stay calm, cause now i drop bombs on cd-roms Your raps get pimpslapped, you kickin' bubblegum Only real niggas know where i'm comin' from, under confusion Run up on houston, and bow down to the styles i am usin' Trinity garden, e.
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Coy A. El Coyote Creepin' slow through the monte Peace to my niggas in the grave and the bote Ponte cuidado Bow wow wow Soy el mojado de ciudad Hustle Town Blue and white Porche, sixty thousand dollar horse At my ranch, where my butt naked maids do my chores My slab??? Get weighed on triple beamers I got a Dirty Harry, plus a pair of purdy Ninas Raised on the south side of Houston Fuck with the clique And shit'll get gruesome Quick execution Day of revolution Moms wanna send me to another institution Life is so precious Why would you test this Mex out of Tex, with 7 S. S's Partner Repeat Chorus Twice [Verse 2: Rasheed] They call me Rasheed I smoke the bomb weed I came up off my feet Cause I make my block bleed It must be all Greed, cause my boys, rob ki's I'm a chop cheese and forever clock G's I never pop knees, leave 'em bloody by these Put them in the back of a stolen Marquis Call the cops Please, cause this motherfucker's smell The ringin' in my ear sound like cow's bells Well, this is farewell I park parallel Walk to the park and smoke On the carousel We play hide and seek And then freeze tag, put the tag On your toe in a police bag Blow green grass, still I steal and think fast, fuck a pig Put a hole in his little pink ass.
Tricked out Chrysler LeBarons and Toyota mini-trucks with bionic hydraulic systems compete to see whose front end can hop the highest, or shimmy the most erratically from tire to tire without busting an axle. The audience--lots of women in dark lip liner and tight skirts and men with tattoos in white tank tops--watch from behind the safety of thin plastic cordoning tape, while in the back of the venue, crowds browse through a vast showroom of prize-winning lowrider cars. Texas rapper South Park Mexican who copped his name from the Houston area he grew up in and his posse arrive just in time to catch the tail end of the hopping contest.
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Yeppa yeppa homeboys That's the nigga low-g Puttin' it down for the nina eight We givin' prop, what we did this week So don't trip, if we forgot your click. I move a hundred pounds in my hustle town Come around fuck 'em down with my underground Puffin' pow-wow clouds in my t. But my hina' hollerin' release me Prime time like shines on the high mimes Hellafied rhymes, huh, you rewind twenty-five times Another fool puttin' down the truth, You can't fuck with the riddla' on the roof Mista', go get her, kick the mo' better If she wanna go, fuck the ho, let her The wanderer, hill wood hustler, Turn your back on your gail and i, uh, straight clown in my h-town Is you hoes really ready for the take down?