T-Pop, Buddah Man, Lil’ Flex , Z-Ro - On My Grind lyrics

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

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

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 cocked 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 ass jackers

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 niggas
By mouth phones, I be faxing niggas
From the streets, you better ask them niggas
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

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 nigga wrong
Hollow tip bullets, put plugs in niggas 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 niggas that don't know, this the deal
Stepped out entered the do', with thug appeal
Boys saying
This nigga must be a thug for real
Show nothing but skills
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 niggas off
And I'm taking some mo' down
This a Southside showdown, recognize the name
Lyrics like hot flame
Game recognize game stack paper