Paul Wall - Chunk Up The Deuce lyrics

[Hook: Lil Keke] I chunk up the deuce for the south and the north Boys talking down and boys wanna hate I chunk up the deuce for the south and the north Boys talking down, don't make me pull out the choppa I chunk up the deuce for the south and the north Boys talking down, I'll leave 'em on the streets dead I chunk up the deuce for the south and the north Boys talking down, I got them diamonds in my mouth [Verse 1: Paul Wall] Well it's that grain gripper from Houston, Tex That barre sipper, that barre, no plex I'm straight up outta that Swishahouse, where G. Dash write all the checks So check the neck, check the wrist, I'm balla status from head to toe My j**elry shop sell more grills than George Foreman, baby now you know That ain't a igloo, that's my watch, and that ain't snow, baby that's my chain That's not a ice tray, that's my teeth, and that's not a snow cone, that's my ring That ain't Kool-Aid up in my cup, I stay sipping that purple oil I stay flipping the slab on fours, cause I'm a hustler 'til I'm in the soil My wrist game is one of a kind, Patek Philippe worth a 100K My work schedule out on the block, it's mash all night and grind all day No 401K for a hustler, just bleed the block and stack that paper M.O.B. when it comes to hoes and a .40 cal when it comes to haters We authentic playas not counterfeit, got a 600 Benz with a fog kit Got hoes at the HK turning tricks, outrunning the track, trying to make me rich I'm too legit to quit, stacking up that paper 'til I'm gone So I'ma be working wood wheel and catching splinters Riding twenty inches or better in chrome [Hook: Lil Keke] [Verse 2: Lil Keke] Don Ke Houston, Tex, got the streets burning, popping seals with them fours turning Rookie boys, they still learning, losing cash, I'm still earning Get my bread when I shake the fed, keep them dimes in and out my bed Jump in the drop to convert the top and let 'em bop on candy red Leather seats with that wood out, they don't know what my hood 'bout Tryna take the young don's spot, I'm platinum balling and still hot Haters off in my mix again, pimping broads plus pimping pens Multiplying, I gotta win, keep that ice looking clear as gin Out the roof still chunking deuce, riding slab and hopping juice Diamond grill with plenty of sk**s, just pa** the mic and I let it loose Independent still chasing bucks, 22s on Porsche trucks Model chicks with them big ol' bu*ts, k**er clans with them big ol' nuts Hit the club with my game tight, hoes bopping my fame right Did her thang the same night, boys talking, it's all hype Cut the check when I run my mouth, rolling in green like I'm playing golf Texas boys be going off, representing the north and south [Hook: Lil Keke] [Verse 3: Pimp C and Bun B] I'm from Port Arthur, Texas, represent it 'til I'm dead Pimping almost died in the 80s, boys was scared b**hes was on crack, and the 'Lac wasn't rolling But the game done been revived cause now the south side is holding Pockets stay swollen, what do we do with all this cash? Drive '84 Biarritz with TVs jumpin up out the dash Pistol in the stash even though I'm on parole n***a try me with that f** it, b**h I'll leave your body cold From the land of grain, dripping paint, 84s and a chrome grill This Texas baby, dirty south, P.A.T., you know we real We pack the Ks, Desert Eags, ARs and them 38s We serving nothing but Chyna Whyte, playa we don't sell that dirty weight Big Bun Beeda, hold it down, rep the town to the fullest Whether it be on the mic or in the streets busting them bullets Don't put it with me, I won't pull it on you and leave you ventilated UGK is back on the block and you marks is finna hate it [Hook: Lil Keke]