Letra State to State - Paul Wall, Freeway

State to State

Free! Paul Wall!
And we comin with the bum-bum-BUMMM
Early! G’yeah! Uhh
It’s the Roc, Swishahouse and we bum-bum-BUMMM
Dumpin on y’all hatin ass niggas and we hit y’all with the bum-bum-BUMMM
Early! Uhh, g’yeah, uhh
Y’all better keep your weapons close it’s Philly and Paul Wall
And «this is the way we ball»
Bring the raw to yo' city got them semis if you really want war
We gon' bring it to your doorstep, vests and them hoodies
And we pop pop pop… through your body
Put the rest in your fitty and «this is the way you fall»
To the ground and you shakin nigga
State Prop cock game, squeeze gunnin haters down
And we take a hater’s pounds and we sell a hater’s bricks
And, we the main reason why they chicks is not around
Somebody tell them that the Roc in Houston
Swishahouse got that knock in Houston
We come to lock shit down
Real niggas stand up, point 'em out
We gon' gun them haters down, get from 'round you hear that bum-bum-BUMMM
And all my real bitches step up
Come to wipe a player down, smoke a pound with him, bum-bum-BUMMM
I hear these haters talkin, seem like they gettin louder
These sweet cupcakes softer than some clam chowder
I’m from the city that’s proud to serve big crack rocks
For twenty dollars get you higher than an astronaut
I keep a Glock in my State Prop jeans
Floating on cloud nine, gone off codeine
I chunk a deuce to a hater, I’m on a mission for paper
I got Lil' Hawk with me servin dope fiends like a waiter
I’m on the south B with my boy Do YOu
Big bank take little bank baby tell me what it do
These boys talkin loud but they ain’t saying a thang
But Paul Wall and Freeway’ll make 'em sang
When we hit 'em with that bum-bum-BUMMM
It’s the Swishahouse, State Prop chain gang
Forty-five cal', big Glock, bang bang
I keep the tupperware tucked in my underwear
Rain down thunder on these suckers make the clutter clear
Let’s get one thang clear, I run with grizzly bears
Bite you in your back and make you straighten out your chest hair
I’m one hundred baby no time for playin games
I got a garden full of karats hangin in my chain
I keep a player 'bout my paper, fuck a hater
Cause the real turn fake, switchin over like a crossfader
I’m squashin chatter, climbin up the ladder
Cause my goal is to make my pockets fatter baby Paul Wall
Paul Wall, Philadelphia Freeway
Swishahouse, State Property
In Philly they say «early»
In Houston, Texas we say «already»
But it’s all good
— over Paul talking
Knahmtalkinbout… already
Sanchez on the beat, throw down baby
Paul Wall, Freeway