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    Jay-Z / Lyrics

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    "Poppin' Tags" Lyrics

    Jay-Z feat. Twista, Killer Mike and Big Boi

    [Intro/Chorus: repeat 2X]
    And we gon' stay hustlin on that block until we caught
    And we gon' stay showin off that jewelry that we bought
    And we gon' stay leavin out the stores with heavy bags
    Cause we poppin tags, pimpin we be poppin tags!

    [Verse One: Jay-Z]
    We arose, let's go
    "So Fresh So Clean" like 'Kast
    Jay-Z be poppin tags
    Leavin the mall with heavy bags
    You know the boy got a love for the cash

    Aw fuck, there he go again
    Talkin bout hoes and dough again
    Yup! -- Can't hold it in
    I'm surprised I got so much dough to spend
    But, back when I was poorer then
    You wasn't focusin, about the dough I spend
    But I was holdin in, I was a roller then
    I was a baller back then, all of that man
    Fall back, I fought that
    What would you do if you was in my shoes?
    Leave dudes in the rearview
    V-12 engine, corners spinnin
    Twinkies shinin, pinky ring
    Armadale, nigga stinky stink
    Top, down, my cash is up
    Gold chain, I don't give a fuck
    Gold brain'll get you in the truck ma
    That's right, you in luck ma

    You see me cruisin down, better step inside
    Ain't enough room to fit you all in the ride
    First come, first served basis
    You know Hov' be goin to nice places
    That's right, and I'm droppin cash
    Leave the mall with garbage bags
    Gucci this, Prada that
    Roll witcha boy you'll be poppin tags


    [Verse Two: Twista]
    It's a party when I go up in the sto'
    Shoppin while I'm zooted off the dro'
    Rollin like a nigga that just came up on a mill'
    and I got 'em sweepin and pickin up tags off the flo'
    Bag full of clothes I remember havin rocks in the hall
    on the glimmer with the glock by the ball

    Servin up a jab and workin security 6 to 6
    Then it's straight from the block to the mall
    Now what's on the wall? Go ahead and treat yo'self
    When you come up on some cheddar better pop that tag
    Like when I dip off in the Prada then I go off
    to the lot lay the paper down and cop that Jag
    I got a console full of ammunition and funds
    Mink Roc-a-Wear and some guns
    Petty in a fresh pair of jumps, blo-packs and Bo Jax
    and Air Maxes, throw back some ones, no max for none
    (When I go up in the sto' a nigga never get enough)
    I'm a baller and if you want it come and get it now
    (Nigga come to a race with a car you won't catch up)
    And the Twista kinda wicked when I spit it now
    I be choppin up cheddar with Kanye
    Chop a little cheddar up with Jay
    Chop it up with the O-to-the-Kizay
    Poppin big tags with the flow and the dough, we get bi-zay!


    [Verse Three: Killer Mike]
    Uh-huh, whattup? Tell you somethin bout me..
    My throwback game is whiffle wicked
    Saint Patties day, green pinstripe, number 20 Mark Spitz'n
    Jersey ooh-wee with the matchin Nu*Wear fitted
    White boys say my style is bitchin
    Keepin coke in the kitchen
    Keep a glock that will shock and bring the rest
    tucked underneath my Michelin S
    I, travellin, handlin with a forty-five cannon
    It's tucked in my Marc Buchanan
    Extra clips and shells in the lambskin
    Two deep by Pelle Pelle
    Westside how they felly fell
    More G's on me, than a late 80's Gucci leather
    worn by the great Rakim himself
    Stitch my Dapper Dan oh man with the gun in hand
    I leave your blood squirting
    No offense, I'll put your face on the chest
    of a sweatshirt drawn by Shirt Kings
    I been fucking, a hustle, married to a racket
    since the first Air Jordan's and Starter jackets
    I slept with a package, under mattress
    I carry guns heavy speakeasy, slight with the fight words
    I'll put somethin hot through your motherfuckin iceberg
    Got a project chica, named Rica
    She keep a purse full of dro' reefer
    Small, pinkies like that
    Talk 'til the paper fat
    I rock somethin, roll chief +Sacks+ like Daddy Fat!


    [Verse Four: Big Boi]
    Pop tires in reverse, you'll be needin a nurse
    Leave you layin on your back in a Cadillac hearse
    Now your momma in all black with a matchin purse
    I know you wanna blow up, but a funeral hurts
    What's worse, you can hit the mall and ball 'til you fall
    Have to make a collect call, but your cell cut off
    Trot to the mailbox thinkin a check but the mail's run short
    No more MD, DD, LD
    That means Movie Date, Dinner Date, Lunch Date, help me please
    My sheets is gone
    Long bread to the short bread, word is bond
    Meticulously pimpously serve the song
    Act a damn donkey
    Like the pilgrims when they popped a tag on the indians home
    Drop top rag-o with the weed gone
    Chillin, bags in the trunk full of FEO Schwartz for the chill'uns
    Spent a few shillings
    Sip a few chickens, lick a few kittens, just kiddin
    A fresh bowl of milk is in the fridge and
    Can you pop the tags on the honeycombs
    Or are you actin mad cause the money done
    slowed, down, just a little bit
    Dipped, poked out, did some shull-bit
    Actin like a pitfall bull-pit
    Dead game is the pul-pit
    Leave a motherpumper with his John Doe toe tag clipped
    Imperial classic, a lyrical thrashin
    A miracle happenin
    Jay-Z, Killer Mike and Big Boi rappin and rhymin and smabbin
    Pop that tag on some of this game
    Holla-tic, swallow and keep the change

    This song was last modified on November 24th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Shawn Carter, Shawn C Carter, Carl Terrell Mitchell, Antwan Patton, Michael Santigo Render, Smokey Robinson, William Robinson Jr., Kanye West, Kanye Omari West.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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