Lyric Throw Em Up
[Chorus: Master P (4X)]
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
Chorus
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
Chorus
[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
I m cold bro, even sold my mamma a boulder
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
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
Chorus
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
Chorus
[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
I m cold bro, even sold my mamma a boulder
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
