JT the Bigga Figga - Can We All Ball lyrics

Verse 1 (k**a Tay) We pump slugs, and punk thugs for their d** When push come to shove ain't no motherf**in love Bow down, we just hit the town But we brung sh** like Hitler, bail em with a Sigma Switch with the first shot, gotta check the spot Burnin rubber out the parkin lot, pointin out the window Stuck off indo, bumpin my n***a C-Bo b**hes all in my business cos they think I move kilo's I, call my people's on the mobile, gang global, nationwide distribution Now I'm posted up in Houston Texas, ridin a Lexus but it's supremo n***as set trippin, so a solo weapon is essential Keep the pepper spray on my car keys, only f** with hard Gz Still get my ball on like Barkley Nothin but the California hog in me Touchin triggers, real n***as, straight doggin freaks Chorus: Can we all ball? Can we all ball? Can we all ball? Verse 2 (JT the Bigga Figga) We take the occupation when movin, my hustle never stop Check what? Some babies camera's peep the blocks, stash the Glocks Posi's squashed, ship ki's and here there's thousand dollar bidders Rim hats with feathers, more money than Perry Ellis Never known behind ???, talkin "let my nuts hang" Trade ya the .4-5 and the Tek 9 for a drop Mustang A long line of k**ers, drug dealers with stripes Just schoolin, you're rollin pontentially, could take your advice (C-Bo) We count big face and straight laces by the hundreds Ragtops and big blocks, gettin the money Sippin X-O Hen, and I get it for the 1-10 In a convertible Benz, fearin hunted, on twins They call me Bo-Loc, and fo' sho' I smoke the dodo And flip the '97 Sport to shake the po-po High rollers count, tall dollars will never fall In this sh** for the cash n***a, enter, forever ball Chorus Verse 3 (C-Bo) We are surprised in this rap game Straight gangsta sh** makes the world go round, I'm nuttin nice On a dice, bets are more wet and crush ice X-O, stretch Rolls, Bza's and Lexo's And f** the best hoes, and never slippin like Magic Johnson Keeps my top down, increase my hatto, from Sac to Compton Rolex down, fools shot up, solid ice The gin in the cask was still followed by the vice In the S-Cla**, we does it on the gas On my cell, Bo poppin my collar, all about my cash How many diggers can you scat? Now picture that Without the feds on your back, homey, and that's a fact We attack with Mac 1-12's to protect my sack I pick up my pack, tellin the order "handle that" It ain't no room for you busters cos we knuckle ya downfall Player haters, f** y'all, let these ballers all ball Chorus: Can we all ball? Can we all ball? Can we all ball? Can we all ball? Tell me, can we ball?