[Intro: J.R. Writer]
uhh chyea
dipset, swisha house
my man paul wall, jr writers definitely in the building yall
lets bounce, bounce

[Verse 1: J.R. Writer]
im from the party to the lobby to the lobby with the pump
listen papi u aint gotti get the shotty if u stunt
masserati in the front, i aint 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, dont even (polly) on the blunt
i hit mami if i want, cuz she aint 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

[Chorus x2: Both]
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

[Verse 2: Paul Wall]
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
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
fuck 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

[Chorus x2]

[Verse 3: J.R. Writer]
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
[Paul Wall:]
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
[J.R. Writer:]
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 aint a liar liar
swear im on fire at the dealer, hot drop n roll
[Paul Wall:]
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)

[Chorus x2]