Po Pimp

Do Or Die

Po PimpDo Or Die/Tung Twista/Johnny PAlbum: Picture ThisChorus: Johnny P1-Do you wanna riiide? In the backseat, of a Caddy Chop it up, with Do or Die...Verse One: BeloSeven double oh P.M. fly low to them hoes in the B-MSippin Seagram, chewin on a wheat stemTouchin on my fo' finMove it to the back so I can see who beepin this Po PimpSpring to the phone with a slow limpIn a trip that shitted with 3-1-2-7-6-2-10Three line connection, as the rest of them wanted affectionJust bring the bead, we got the drinks you needAnd plus we strapped with two protectionsI put the phone in the hook, then I pause for a minuteCause I forgot where I met the hoeAnd the feeling I've forgotten if the hoes wanna snapI straight up check the hoe, really doe, to the crib(rpt 1)Verse Two: AK-47, BeloSeven deuce five, the ride the point to spot the live hoesThree miles per hour, like we runnin up on some ri-valsNever to deny though, these bitches look fly 'LoIntroduce myself, a to the motherfuckin K finna recognizeThen I loose myself juice myselfAs you take one pull, uhh, pass it to the left and ummSelf-centered niggaz'll take two pulls'Cuz they thinkin about samplin ummP-I, M-P, ology, but logicallyWe're learnin' these hoes biology, and obviously, well...Mmm, ain't this some shit, pull up in the C-AD-I, Double-L, with ah A-C, A-C hoesThey peep those, P-I, M-P, and they think that automaticallyCause he's a pimp, he gotta be, full of thatM-O, N-E, but why?Cause nigga be sportin nice cars and fancy clothesFresh jewels Girbaud flexin one five oh (chop chop)Chop up that paper hoe, chop up that paper hoeWatch where your lips go, caress my tip slowTo the tempo, instrumentalReal simple when you fuckin with a pimp doeGet involved in the backseatLet's have me in the cab betcha mess with ya young assSmokin on that finest grassNever miss what you never had, at lastP-I, M-P, ology, but logicallyWe learnin these hoes biology, and obviously, well...(rpt 1)Verse Three: Tung TwistaWell a motherfucker might be broke and shitand then collecting no dough from tipsBut I be spittin mo' game than a mouthful of poker chipsto get them hoes with the Oprah lips and the provokin hipsand never gotta tell her ma