Papoose, Paul Wall - Ridin' Shotgun lyrics

I go by the name of
Paul Wall The People's Champ
And I'm pullin' down with
My partna Papoose baby they talkin' bout

Kick the door down, weighed
Glock, bag the money, gimme all that you got
Than it's back to the hood
Fo a all night flight
Tryin to slang a lick at the gamblers spot
All or nothin, win or lose, grind all day
No time to snooze
Stack o' cash, one dolla at
A time, just earnin' stripes
And payin my do's
5-9, 5-8, South Lee, South Bake, Lil
E, Big Mix, my partna Bowdy
Pour up the drank
Getcha eagle on flip a bird
16 deep can buy you a brick
Plus that clock go stone for


Stone, gram for gram, lick for lick
Ova night celebrity in the streets
Bust a move feet to feet
Cut the corner, slide off in the wind
And it's back to the block for a meet n greet
Where's the drank? Where's the dro? Where's
The whip? Where's the blow?
Pop seal, pour a fo', fire up the piff
Light n blow
I'm comin straight from dat Houston
Texas, I got the tech, who's next wit plex?
I do yo ass, like a garbage fest
I'll peal yo shell n snap yo neck
It's Paul Wall no need to explain
Emerged from the game in a slab on swang
Sip the drank, take it straight to the brain
I'm fuckin' round with that Drama King
I'm on that 16 loop
Down in that Houston baby
I'm on Atlantic Ave hip hop, police hate me
I'm posted up, I'm toasted
Up, I'm getting mine, new York Times
The clock is tickin, time is money
Partna it's goin down

You see folks, hit you wit the
Poetry notes, Flow league, low key
O-G's dope the coke freak, dope feen, off a
Ski slope, talk to police, nope
Yo homies, no pito, the homey keep toast
Turn ur ghostwriter to a holy ghost
Quick to pull a shank on the old ski coach
You can hokie poke
I drink so much, I cry liquor, wipe my tears
Wit c notes, I smoke so much weed
I fart weed smoke
I wonder a the moment she spoke
You know I like a woman with a
Mint coat n a deep throat
And ma I think your crazy
If you don't deep throat
You serve no purpose like a slow speed boat
Im sworn to the hood, took the OG oath
The homies toast to the song P wrote (uh)
On this shit I don't need votes
You 'bout to getcha hood, pass me voc
You can't afford this ice, he broke, 4-5
Bitch 4-5-6 c-low
I smoke brown like my name nino, I'm Papoose
Underground king no
Kiss the bling-bling ho, my ching ching
Do'or let tha ding-ding go
Like a sing-sing row (uh)
Why ya'll talk wheezy, 'fore I, grip
I, pull out the toasta
Come back an kill em like Piper Sosa
Eat em like Pondarosa, touch em like Tony
Toka, push range rova's wit shoulda, holdsta
This verse is ova

I'm on that 16 loop
Down in that Houston baby
I'm on Atlantic Ave hip hop, police hate me
I'm posted up, I'm toasted
Up, I'm getting mine, new York Times
The clock is tickin, time is money
Partna it's goin down

What it do, it's Paul
Wall the people's champ, n dat boi Papoose
My pockets fat like bruise, bruise
Cause, I'm goin' hangin round do'ors
Spot like a noose
I'm goin' hard, on tha block
Posted up like Jermaine O'Neal
If you scared take yo ass back home
Turn on tha tube n watch Dr phil
Watch n learn, clock?
No sleep just crash n burn
Paint tha slab, weigh tha trunk, bolted up
Than bounce n turn
On Bay Bridge, wit tha undaground
King, shakin bike logs, stayin afloat
It's tha Street Sweepers an
Tha Swishahouse, Paul Wall
Papoose dat's all she wrote

Paul Wall n Papoose, we ride
Her, shortay in tha back
Wit a back lookin proper
Face like a model, n a match wit
Da prada, little time n she mine
I'm time her
Popped in tha night, so I popped
Up beside her, popped 2 bottles
Than I popped my colla
I didn't have a pen, she gave me eye liner
Wrote her phone numba on a back of a dolla
She crumbled it up, n put it in her vagina
Shortay was a turnt out freak like Madonna
Then I seen her friend
Lookin betta right behind
Her, took my dolla back matta fact
I'm a holla!
You nigga's is imposters, we eatin like
We mobsters, Street Sweepers n Swishahouse
You fuckin wit some monsta's

I'm on that 16 loop
Down in that Houston baby
I'm on Atlantic Ave hip hop, police hate me
I'm posted up, I'm toasted
Up, I'm getting mine, new York Times
The clock is tickin, time is money
Partna it's goin down