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    St. Lunatics / Lyrics

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    "Show Em What They Won" Lyrics

    St. Lunatics feat. Murphy Lee and Nelly

    Yeah, yeah, check, check
    See I ain't about playin, Leezy 'bout cash in advance
    Cash in on the casual, actual, factual plan
    Makin a killin man, went from that to makin a livin
    Rightous willin, the only thing supreme swimmin
    And proceed, to not smoke weed around the seed
    It's the new way, new life, peace true indeed, off T's
    I dwell on off how y'all plan makin mo' money, so I had to buy a fly chain
    Ran in this game, dirt broke, now it's MTV with Kurt Lod'
    With the Q-four-feezy, be hurtin folks
    Keep the bird toast, black handle, horoscope hood scandle

    You the type of niggas puffin in shirts, socks and sandals
    Keep the God in me, the Hova Ja knew Allah in me
    Ball wit' me, don't tell 'em who saw when 'bout to squall wit' me
    Fall wit' me, this pure mic dope I'm sellin
    It's the man with mellow rap, felon, constantly yellin "yo ma!"

    Uh, uh, uh, uh
    What's it like bein Nelly, ay, let me break it down
    It's like a shootout and you the only nigga wit' rounds
    It's like a weed drought and you the only nigga wit' pounds
    It's like a Freaknik and you got the only rubbers in town
    I'm like a shoe-in, for the poster boy, the thug of the year
    GQ style ma', let me put a bug in your err (ear)
    Go tell ya man, he take a step, there went a slug in his err (ear)
    Have 'em askin (yo, how the hell he get a gun up in here?)
    (That's gotta be illegal, Bob!)
    I can bring them chrome things for that drastic shit

    Metal detectors, no problem, got that plastic shit
    Witnessess, "I ain't seen 'em, they had masks and shit"
    "Whoever it was, was in a rush 'cause they was fast and quick"
    Oh, I'm just a playa, mo', these ain't my rules
    Peep game, I'm wearin Jordans, summer these my shoes
    I'm like the heir to the throne
    Me and my niggas fastbreak through your home, get ya coach on the phone
    Tell 'em "go'on"

    Show 'em what they won, a short stay at the hotel, Bob
    Show 'em what they won, Alize, Mo', Crissy or ale, Bob
    Show 'em what they won, Murphy Lee, Key or Nell, Bob
    Show 'em what they won, what, show 'em what they won, who
    Show 'em what they won, niggas talkin shit get served, Bob
    Show 'em what they won, two to the head, left on the curb, Bob
    Show 'em what they won, leavin they mama's feelins hurt, Bob
    Show 'em what they won, what, show 'em what they won, who

    Show 'em what they won

    Ay yo, Bob, they want Keyjuan, the one who gets the job done
    Keep huns screamin "Keyjuan-na-na"
    On the block I Rule like Ja, in the sun like Wa
    Me and mine at the mall spendin grands like Cool Bob
    See I'm a Ruger shooter, don't make me have to do ya
    Boo-ya, you see what Lunatics'll do to ya
    Tip-??? pursuer, get 'er in a room and do 'er
    First cat out the Lou that you knew that
    Wore a lime-green headband, matchin leather pants
    Vokal t-shirt with some sparklin wristbands
    This man, he keeps it real sweet
    With somethin sweeter than sweet, puffin on Swisher Sweets
    I'm unique like a blue cardinal bird without the beak
    I'm deep, like bucket seats when the 'tics hit the streets
    Pick door number three if your price is right
    I'll pull a DJ Quik "tonite is the night"

    (Murphy Lee)
    Hold on, so I can tell 'em who I is, a young school boy with one kid
    I think I'm five-eight, but yo, maybe I'm five-six
    With my boots off, I prefer my booties in boots off
    You get in my bed, you better take pants, shoes off
    Now, and not right now but right now!
    And I ain't backin down, she can get up and bounce
    The Young Dude, quick to roll up an ounce and head south
    Don't even have drive, I can sit on the couch
    And wrap somethin, and put on a beat and rap somethin
    They call me Mr. get all mad and smack somethin
    I'm wild dude, you could probably find me on side two
    If not I'm a holla like Ja Rule, get a dollar from my boo
    And go and by a juice or somethin
    A virgin rapper, I ain't gettin loose for nothin
    Money earnin rapper, I ain't got no boots for nothin
    So I'm servin rappers, I be cookin when I'm comin

    (Chorus) 2x
    This song was submitted on October 22nd, 2004 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Ali K. Jones, Cornell Haynes, Jason Epperson, Robert Ky Juan Cleveland, Tohri Murphy Lee Harper.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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