Don Trip - Pistols in Paris lyrics

Intro... OK I ball hard 'til I foul out In all black like da power out I'm flyer than both them airplanes dat Bush sent to knock da towers down Dog b**h, no Bow Wow We eatin' b**h, no pow wow Just a lil n***a witta big gun And I point dat b**h, it go pow pow Kick back witta b**h, I ball 'Bout to finish up witta hot towel Yall must not be fundin' me I get more head than ya eyebrows Since all we talkin is punchlines I talk more sh** than a fly's mouth Paid up, I put my paper behind myself Drive-outs b**h wetter than spilled milk But I like it wet, so why pout I don't see you n***as, but I chase da cheese And I gets to it like a blind mouse Still not f**in wit' da rat pack These rap cats so quiet now Workin' wit' all dat shy money Mine arrogant, and I'm proud My clock tellin me it's winter time 1st cla** when I fly south I'm ice cold, no runny nose Got more ho's than a fire house Unfortunately I'm still in the dirt More than happy wit my pile I'm strapped up, all hollow points Talk volatile, and hostile I don't know what "dat cray" means I'm too smart to just say things Dat drop top or dat hard top I'm at the dealership, debating Never ran out of breath From all this cheese toast I been chasing And y'all wear all them tight jeans Is more sweeter than pralines My money fast as a Salene I'm wide awake in my day dreams Cause I'm chasin mine, you take ya time Just know that time's not waiting King Kong makes a great king Just had my second baby My co*kiness grows daily You gotta pay me just to pay me Yeah b**h, I'm sittin fat It's not possible for me to trade teams If I said it then it's da truth Like Beanie Sigel, not Tray Dee But Trae the Truth, you dry snitch Then wet you up when we spray tools It's Notch or none, all for one On the calendar, it's April fools Riding 'round with 'bout 30 rounds And da truth is, I can't wait to shoot Just to make an example Try Trip and make breaking news Smack his b**h, shake'em down Snatch his chain, take his shoes We ain't got plans on wearin'em Just pardon us, we too old school Handle sh** like I'm suppose to This ain't beef, this tofu Ya b**h staring, her nipples hard It's my fault, cause I'm so cool You dropped her off, and I drove through And sicked dat b**h on my whole crew On top of that I recorded her And I ain't talkin' no Pro Tools [Interlude] I don't even know what that means (No one knows what it means, but it's provocative) No it's not, it's gross (Gets the people going!) Got more money, got more goons And more streets swept than a old broom We ain't talkin 'bout income My schedule booked, I got no room Can't wait to be king Hope they bury me inside a gold toom Don Trip Suicide bomber, 'bout to go boom! NOTCH...b*tch