Playa Tip - Mac Mall

Is this muthafucka on?

(Check-check 1−2

Yeah bitch, go check your muthafuckin puss

Yeah, this’s your homeboy Jay from the Romper Room Crew

We just lounge here in the Country Club right about now

You know what I’m sayin?

But now I’m gonna pass this to my young dog Mac Mall)

Passin Mac Mall the mic is like lighting a fuse

To a fat pipe bomb in a packed-ass room

Full of broke pimpetrators who be all tryin to dis

And them hairshop hoes playa-hatin for the dick

Now naw, I can’t forget all them rumour-spreadin tricks

Chocolate nuts for your mouth when this dope album hits

Like a??

ho?

out of China, ballers say I am a timer

Cause I was shootin game since I was a minor

Some of these rappers is liars, candy-coated and shit

Counterfeit-ass nigga, you can’t blow up in this shit

I went from bein broke to havin fat accounts

]From Ben Davis to wearin clothes you can’t pronounce

]From spittin lines to the ladies to bust the game to a bitch

First they hung up in my face, now I got em doin flips

So when my cuddies ask, «Mall, you stress offa what suckers say?»

I tell em, «Naw folks, it’s all in the game»

I’m comin up on the playa tip

Your boy done bubbled, so be prepared for some major shit

Nigga, we comin up on the playa tip

(So shake them squares and start chosin on some playas, bitch)

Still got a Tec-9 in my cream creased Dockers

Hang with big timers, hustlers and bank-robbers

Players who be real about they money, you know

My dick get harder with every dollar, so who needs a ho?

But sometime I like to get my tip ate

And if you ain’t careful, it might be your bitch, mayn

V-Town hog, so I dog her like a doorway gap

I’m from the Crestside, partner, and fool, we do em like that

One-time, they be on me, cause my pockets is paroley

Sippin Hennessy not 40's, stayin far from the phoneys

Fuck a homie, nigga, but you can be my cuddy, though

You got a microphone, some money, or a sack to roll

In the Country Club Crest we can have a choke fest

Them six figure-digits got a young mac possessed

To the point, if it ain’t about money, then it ain’t mandatory

I keep my business and pleasure in different categories

Cause once they mix, then you trip, man fool, you lost control

Went broke behind a punk-ass ho

Nigga

Dome loaded, ripped off Hen'

Hell of g’s addin up in my countin machine

I count them endless dollars before I have a dream

Of a muthafuckin heist or a gafflin scheme

P-89 Ruger with the red beam

Is the tool I use when I let off steam

I’m out here gettin famous, and you’re just a fiend

That’s why everytime you see me you be muggin me

Is your system on that morphine?

Now did your your lungs get sprung on the ice cream?

Now playa-hatin niggas, this rap’s for y’all

You know I got a middle finger and a cap for y’all

As long as my name is young Mac-ass Mall

This game won’t stop, won’t pause, won’t stall

Now nigga, get rich, read a bitch and kill a snitch

But make sure your actin’s on the playa tip

Nigga

On the playa tip

You know

Yeah nigga

We live from the muthafuckin Country Club

You know what I’m sayin

Smokin the dank down to a nud

Ain’t even trippin

We got bitches all out here

and shit, you know

Ant Banks all around this muthafucka burpin and fartin and shit

I don’t know

We just live it, boy