T-Pop - On My Grind lyrics

[Hook] I've got to stack my paper daily, (on my grind) Keeping ways this crooked game can pay me, (on my mind) On the block all day bout to drive me crazy, (but I got to shine) All day I gotta get my hustle on, because I wanna ball not get my struggle on [Z-Ro] Gotta get up and get it, cause I gotta have some'ing If I'm broke I'ma play Spondalay, cause I'ma grab some'ing I'm a soldier, and I ain't gon stop swinging till I fold ya I gotta pay ready bills, plus I need some doja From doing shows, to kicking in do's for feddy Prefer a Glock, cause it ain't heavy I'm in the Dodge not the Cheve, cause I'm ready to ride tonight Roll with tensions, I don't need nobody eyes tonight Because a snitch, is somebody that you dig a ditch for When you do it alone, is when you get rich brah Even when I'm on the block, I got my spot tied down Any short stopping, they know I'm ready to ride down Cause I need my money, ain't no working for free If it ain't 25 hundred, don't even bull with me Cause I ain't coming, unless I can get what I'm worth Cause I be feeling like, I'm the rawest MC on this earth [Hook] [T-Pop] I like to see the sunshine, and just roll on 84's Let these boppers know the deal, they know that Southside gon hold Gon hold, fa sho pockets gon fold Screwed Up Click my family, and we done kicked in the do' Z-Ro, King of the Ghetto stacking his feddy Copping these dollar signs, so you busters ain't ready We co*ked up in a Cheve, plus we pushing the clock Benz on Lorenzos, sitting low in the drop I won't stop, because I'm too far gone Corleone I'm a rider, till you come back home Taking fo's to the dome, Screwzoo sit on your throne We still jamming your songs, thanking the Lord you was born Because without you, it wouldn't be no rapping The only thing I could see, is my pistols a click-clacking Click-clacking bad actor, nine packer Reflecting this beam, for you petty a** jackers [Hook] [Lil' Flex] We pop Cristal, in the memory of And write songs, for the people we remember we love Remember we thugs, this is for the Crips and the Bloods Nobody cries when we die, only swishas and jugs Ounces of bud, put up your mug it's going down Pop the trunk and show surround, the Dirty 3rd is where I'm found One hundred percent realer, of the 7-90 taxing n***as By mouth phones, I be faxing n***as From the streets, you better ask them n***as I got more toys in the trunk, than you action figures They don't come around, because we clap too much And I don't bar with lil' boys, cause they act too much If you think about getting clips, and jacking us Then you better think again, cause the gats'll bust Like Biggie Smalls say, I'm notorious The way that we ball is so glorious, glorious [Hook] [Buddah Man] For change I spit game, you better believe I'm letting my K sneeze, till you cease to breathe Got a hunger for cheese, I'm all about my scratch On fire like a match, it's best you back-back When this hammer track back, don't mug this n***a wrong Hollow tip bullets, put plugs in n***as domes I ain't stopping till you gone, I ain't taking a loss I'm a game spitter, certified Mafia boss Go-getters with one hitters, that sting like a wasp Necks be iced out, no matter the cost A verbal Holocaust, I spit's the real For n***as that don't know, this the deal Stepped out entered the do', with thug appeal Boys saying, this n***a must be a thug for real Show nothing but sk**s, and I'm ready to throw down It go down, I'm grooving now kicking the do' down No time to slow down, I'm tearing this hoe down But peel your n***as off, and I'm taking some mo' down This a Southside showdown, recognize the name Lyrics like hot flame, game recognize game stack paper [Hook]