Mase - Do What Playas Do Lyrics
[mysonne]Uhh (uhh)Wanna blow? (wanna blow? ) pretty tone (pretty tone)Suave house (suave house) eightball (eightball) tony draper (draper)All out (all out), murder (murder)Harlem world (harlem world), problem children (problem children)Yall niggaz got problems (yall niggaz got problems)Uhh (uhh) uhh (uhh) yo (yo)Now I can play with these hoes, or spray four-foursWhatever the situation, may call forI can sport linen, pimp hard, court womenHave the ice, hand to waves all spinninOr I can get in, to some real thug shitArmed robbery, slash, deal drug shitPeel slugs quick, cause Im versatileI can ice grill, but Im worse when I smileExpert with style, yall give hoes cashAll I give em, is hard dick and coke in they ass*****, move that, true playa, true datNiggaz catch feelings, when they chick say, who dat?Representin from the bronx, to the dirty southSpittin drug flows, with my dirty mouthWe got it all, from grams to eightballsYeah we players, and refs, we make callsChorus: eightball (repeat 2x)Now everybody wanna do what a playa doBut everybody cant do what a playa do(I see you playa) all in the mix rightI see you playa (yeah I got my shit tight)[eightball]Bring it to niggaz I dont be slippin on my literarySick when Im gone off that jane first name maryEightball, aint no other like this southern brotherCrazy mother*****er, pooh butt booty dusterNever been a point shaver or a hoe saverJust a weed craver, suave house assassinatorTo the dirt, and we gon put that on the house *****Gold in the mouth shit, straight south shitOrange mound slow the flow down to pull the fo-poundBeat a hoe down, and fall up in the club to downI like them dirty hoes, down to get buck for a dollarThick yella cinderella, hair shop scholarPimp shit, and ima keep it straight +space age+Every year, turn the book of life to a new pageKick rhymes hotter than texas in julySuave house playa til the day that I die, uhhChorus[mase]Sauve house mother*****er, all out mother*****erWanna blow mother*****er? team nigga til Im low mother*****erYo, I went from o-t to o-c to all the paperLeads to fatigue then ? the gatorsIf aint about the money nigga? call me laterHow many niggaz talk benzes? seen them oneNot videos and picture shit, those dont countIm the nigga talkin millions and, own the amountMr. frosty, the nigga never fold for chipsWhen the money on the line ***** I roll tripsCut a ***** off for a week and let her know what she missHundred grand worth of shit nigga glow on my wristBought a range just to go with the sixWhen I flip for these chips, shit is never over a *****You got some nerve, I can give a kiler one word, get emYou will see how many niggaz miss himI put pellets in the air let the shit hit emPut the gun inside his mouth and let the clip kiss himShit you drive all tinted, I put my honey in itWont, stop your bank, aint enough money in itLive a lifestyle rarely told, what you know aboutFloatin down eighth, gettin head in the rollsYou had, money like that you wouldnt be measurin thoseYou mother*****in barely sold, barely goldNiggaz send it rough I send it back the same way it cameYou aint dissin me until you say my name, mother*****erChorus
