(feat. Billy Cook)



[Billy Cook]

Oooooh-oooh, Iiiiiiiiii'm so throwed, in the game

In the two triple O, Po-Yo, Billy G, aaaaaaaay



[Hook x2: Billy Cook]

I'm so thoed in the game

All the haters wanna know my name

I'm pushing weight, to leveling the game

Open up your eyes, and see the fame



[Big Pokey]

I'm so, thoed in the game

Blood and sweat, got a nigga feeling the pain

Moving like a freight train, and ain't looking back

Trying to make the big head stack, feel that

Open your eyes, I'm a wolverine on the rise

Mobbing like Wise Guys, my eyes on the prize

Recognize, it's a hell of a feeling 

It's cathedral ceilings, I'm building and shuffling shilling

Trying to touch a million, 'fore my time is up

I ain't touched it yet, so I ain't blind enough

And the playa haters agitated, cause the figgas

I done calculated, I put it in they face laminated

Nonstop, let em know my guns chop

And if it's on, I'ma make they lungs stop

Snitches, I'ma snatch they tongue out

Oooh yeah, know I'm talking bout



[Hook x2: Billy Cook]



[Big Pokey]

I'm a playa, lose corners checking my trap

Hitting gaps like Warren Sapp, trying to make something happ'n

Day for day with it, on the block getting paid with it

Twenty fo' seven, I stay with it

I don't play with it, I pump it nigga

Laws come dumping, all the neers gate and jumping nigga

Get my bail on, head home and get my cell phone

So I could re-up, and get my mail on

This ain't the first time, I lost my do'

Or toss my do', as long as I ain't lost my hoe

Can't cry over spilled milk, just jump on my game

And make my gears shift, real swift

I'm a threat, one of the realest you ever met

If I'm trading a set, with a brick and some wet

In the big body Lex on dubs, pop pushed up

Sitting low on the dubs, nigga what



[Hook x2: Billy Cook]



[Big Pokey]

All I need is a three beam, and coffee mug to shake

Big bag of weight, compressed and duct taped

Peep the print on it, K-9 can't get a scent on it

Bust that hoe down, and let the fleas get bent on it

My hustle, I've been known it for deep

Keep my game concrete, cement under my feet

Head up, moving in the right direction

Knowing I can make a mill, with the right connection

Mob Style through Texas, a A-1 selection

And I spit the truth, like a sinner in confession

Hauling wessins, waiting for something to jump

First nigga to bump, will catch a hot one in his gum

Get your paper by all means, gotta survive

Working this crack of construction, from nine to five

But it's my time to shine, I'ma blind they eyes

Knocking my rides off like french fries, supersized



[Hook x2: Billy Cook]