J.R. Writer, Paul Wall - Thats A Bet lyrics

Uhh chyea dipset, swisha house
My man paul wall
Jr writers definitely in the building yall
Let's bounce, bounce
Im from the party to the lobby
To the lobby with the pump
Listen papi u ain't gotti get
The shotty if u stunt
Masserati in the front, i ain't shoot a nigga
But off one button i could put
The body in the trunk
Theres a body in the trunk
Big body with the fronts
Stitches to the face, don't even
(polly) on the blunt i hit mami if i want
Cuz she ain't seen a 6-4
So she just loves the impally when they jump
Ima heave em to the con
Fill his heater if u want
U'll be able to see
Wat chu be eatin for a month
I (will steamers) to get launched, of me n paul wall
Drag u up and down florida and
Leave u in the swamp
Im a hustla homie, with some bigger funds
Some bigger guns
I pull em out, shit kids'll run
Get rid of somethin
They kid is done, thats just for fun
In a mayback, to the bay shack
Better lay back
'fore i spray that, that 6 figure nigga want
Stackin paper, we breakin bread
We gettin money, til the day we dead
Its the swisha house and the dipset
This is history in the making
Baby thats a bet live from the swisha house
Straight up outta that 3rd coast
Pop seal, hold a 4, sip a drank
Lets take a toast
Im on my grind and on my note
Im breakin bread and chasing hoes
Evading laws n tippin 4s
This is the playa life that i chose
Stack cheese, count cash, bad bitch, big ass
Paul wall and jr writer
Gettin for that puff puff pass
Drip the candy, pop the trunk
Drop some greens and ride that choppers
Bang and screw in a parkin lot, with
(Michael watch) catchin all the boppers
On top of my game my eyes are peeled
Im on the block im posted up
On south (leave) with cabbage head
We watchin the laws in a poster truck
Got drank then pour it up
Got dank then blow it up
Got plicks i got the pump, wat it do
Thats wats up
I keep a bodyguard by my waste
40 cal thats my pal fck a girlfriend, pack a
Compact plastic Glock, thats my gal
Swisha house we slow it down
In h town we hold it down
With 2 commas in my bank account
U best believe this shit go down
U lookin at the get it getters
Bigger figures hitters niggas
Im just a pimp gave the fox
(make u city slickers)
We some city slickers, sticky hitters
Stick ya sister fly to harlem
Come to ball with some fifty-fifers
Ballin is a habit baby
Big body with big wheels
Pocket of them ben franklins and
Pale full of big bills
My paper game is top notch
My hustle game is top notch
My ice game is top notch
Check ya mouth check ya watch yao
You rockin with the livest, hoe im vamanos
Stay addios flip pie, trick n fly
This the guy from stop n go whip and
(trough) stay ridin low, i ain't a liar liar
Swear im on fire at the dealer
Hot drop n roll we keep it pimpin pimpin
We stackin paper baby
Ridin shotgun with a shotgun
In a cls mercedes
Jr writer and paul wall, swang the fear, pour
(a litre) good hustlas, gettin money
We certified young block (breeders)