Int'l Players Anthem (feat. Three 6 Mafia)

Lyrics for Int'l Players Anthem (feat. Three 6 Mafia)

Hypnotize Minds, UGK! Three 6 Mafia, another classic baby Put some South in your mouth It's goin down, what! Sweet Jones My bitch a choosy lover, never fuck without a rubber Never in the sheets, like it on top of the cover Money on the dresser, drive a Compressor Top notch hoes get the most, not the lesser Trash like to fuck with $40 in the club Fuckin up the game, bitch it gets no love She be cross country, givin all that she got A thousand a pop, I'm pullin Bentleys off the lot I smashed up the gray one, bought me a red Every time we hit the parkin lot we turn head Some hoes wanna choose but them bitches too scary Your bitch chose me, you ain't a pimp, you a fairy Baby you been rollin solo, time to get down with the team The grass is greener on that other side if you know what I mean And I can make you the eighth if you wanna be my girl (girl) When I say my girl I don't mean my woman, that ain't my style Need a real street stalker (stalker) to walk a green mile (mile) We pilin up the paper on the dinin room table Cause you able to realize I'm the truth and not a fable (fable) We rock the freshest sable, keep that 'chilla on the rack What I look like with some thousand dollar shit up on my back? I'm a million dollar mack that need a billion dollar bitch Put my pimpin in your life, watch your daddy get rich Easy as A-B-C, simple as 1-2-3 Get down with UGK, Pimp C, B-U-N B Cause what's a hoe with no pimp? And what's a pimp with no hoes? Don't be a lame, you know the game and how it goes We tryin to get chose Now when they heard who in the club DJ Paul, bitches chosen up When they see I'm nice and like a slush, then they frozen up Like my homie Project Pat we keep them cups raising up Snizzle fizzay kiz-off in my dollar, gotta nose it up I dial drink by the liters, I'm a drinker hoe Before you doin it like meeee you's a thinker hoe What you thinkin row? Need to get your money way up UGK and Three 6 Mafia got your girl creamed up I'm still trappin in hell, my pockets are swelled The number one D-boy, Mr. Fishscale I don't fuck around, with snitches who tell Put holes in your brain, leave bodies to smell A mack here gettin paid, ain't got time for jail I paid off the judges, the jury, the sheriff You know it's the truth, may never we'll fail I'm still +Sippin' Syrup+, slow motion like snails