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rap-a-lot records - platinum stars lyrics

[verse 1: lil’ flip]
uh, lil’ flip
i’m hoppin’ out in a fendi suit
i got dvds in my bentley coupe
i got hoes that’s 22
they buy me clothes and tennis shoes
i’m so throwed when it come to hoes
before i get they phone number they come outta they clothes
i might take ’em to pappadeaux
but only if she a proper hoe
i got a lac. (what kind?) a cadillac escalade
i’m wearin’ jordans. (which ones?) the very first ones made
i got a watch. (what kind?) iced out cartier
i got a rolley but that’s somethin’ that i hardly wear
i’m lil’ flip, the coldest freestyle ever
since day one i was programmed to get this cheddar

[chorus: lil’ matt]
do you drive platinum cars?
do you pull platinum stars?
do you write platinum bars?
platinum t–th inside yo jaws
diamond gon’ rock my platinum wrist
platinum toilet to take a ish
gold is old and platinum is happenin’
so whodi watch this

[chamillionaire:]
yeah, ay, it’s koopa
gotta greenback stack in my palm
i come in a yukon black with alarm
ice on the arm and a platinum charm
and you prolly had a thought about jackin’ it, nah
of course you didn’t n-gga the force is hidden behind the throwback i show that the boys is trippin’
beam me up scotty, hit a force and lift him
top on the drop, yeah of course it’s missin’
don’t want her man to know
that i’ma hit when i’m finished i’ma hand a hoe
back to her man before he even had to know
(a weddin’ ring?) ain’t somethin’ i’ma hand the hoe
(do money grow on trees?) n-gga the answer’s no
i treat g’s like seeds, get a grand to grow
car lookin’ like a zoo in a candy store
alligator on the floor with a candy do’
can’t stand me? no, cuz i’m havin’ dough
i keep a tool on me just like a mechanic flow
you ain’t gettin’ paper, what you up in the game for?
gettin’ paper now, couldn’t be a complainer
trunk lift up at a acute angle
isosceles triangle pokin’ outta my sw-nga’
chain cost me 10 g’s
independent, no label could pimp me
so it really ain’t a thing you could get free
unless you tryna get them chains off of pimp c
we, jammin’ ugk, you see the jewelry, ay!
cover ya’ eyes, it’ll blind like a u.v. ray
stay throwed in the game, holdin’ the grain (yeah!)
ice and the white gold in my chain
raisin’ my trunk and showin’ my bang
hoes on the sw-ngs while the doors color change
nah i won’t let the change go to my brain
respect better be somethin’ you hopin’ to gain
you gon’ mess around and get choked with ya chain
flip, bun and chamillion in control o’ the game

[bun b:]
u (under), g (ground), k (kings)
b-tch i’m the king of the underground
and the pope of port arthur (arthur)
keep that fire heat on ya’ street
and a meat in your daughter (daughter)
got no love fo’ a hater (hater), got no hate fo’ a lover (lover)
just distribute my pollution
keepin’ weight undercover, my brother (fa sho!)
now we back up on the block again
i got them rocks again
and the blocks again
until the cops come in
but see the better bring the swat my friend
because i promise that we not runnin’
n-gga we gon’ be here all day
posted in this hallway
keep them cluckers comin’ in cuz we gon’ serve ’em all yay (baller)
them nickels and dimes and quarters (quarters)
that pot of the rock you done bought up (bought up)
but though that we oughta
n-gga we turnin’ ya projects into the carter (carter)
got automatic starters (starters)
for they automatics choppers (choppers)
and the texas boy’ll automatically break you off somethin’ proper (proper)
i knock off a bopper, break down a bird, and bust me a flow
i’m down with the pimp and the prince
from now ever since, you don’t like it you must be a hoe, so

- rap a lot records lyrics

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