Walk Up To Yo House (Original) Three 6 Mafia
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[Intro: Juicy J & Kingpin Skinny Pimp]
Smoked out, loced out, ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, meanin' aimin' at your skull
Smoked out, loced out, ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't-I don't love hoes, meanin' aimin' at your skull
Smoked out, loced out, ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, meanin' aimin' at your skull
[Chorus: Project Pat, Lord Infamous]
Walk up to your house, knock on your door, and blow your ass off
Drop it off, drop it off, bitch, I got a sawed off
Walk up to your house, knock on your door, and blow your ass off
Drop it off, drop it off, bitch, I got a sawed off
[Verse 1: Juicy J]
Late last night, lyin' in the bed, eyes red
Thinkin' should I get these ho's
Thinkin' should I cut they head
Should a nigga plan a hit, or grab my pistol grip
And take care my business, 'cause they don't who they fuckin' with
Call my nigga Project Pat, 'cause I know he got my back
Fuck writin' rhymes, this is real shit, not a track
Camouflage in the dark for the ones who act hard
The Devil on my left side, the other side I'm seein' God
Why do niggas talk shit? Niggas can't stick together
Seein' a nigga get killed, will make a nigga feel better
So, I just walk in a pace, thinkin' of the case of mothafuckas
Who trait pistol to your fuckin' face
This ain't no game, nigga, my finger's on the trigger
The time is runnin' out, my conscience sayin' I gotta get him
Is there a way, that a nigga can escape from Hell?
I fucked him up with the Mossberg buck shells, bitch
Smoked out, loced out, ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, meanin' aimin' at your skull
Smoked out, loced out, ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't-I don't love hoes, meanin' aimin' at your skull
Smoked out, loced out, ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, meanin' aimin' at your skull
[Chorus: Project Pat, Lord Infamous]
Walk up to your house, knock on your door, and blow your ass off
Drop it off, drop it off, bitch, I got a sawed off
Walk up to your house, knock on your door, and blow your ass off
Drop it off, drop it off, bitch, I got a sawed off
[Verse 1: Juicy J]
Late last night, lyin' in the bed, eyes red
Thinkin' should I get these ho's
Thinkin' should I cut they head
Should a nigga plan a hit, or grab my pistol grip
And take care my business, 'cause they don't who they fuckin' with
Call my nigga Project Pat, 'cause I know he got my back
Fuck writin' rhymes, this is real shit, not a track
Camouflage in the dark for the ones who act hard
The Devil on my left side, the other side I'm seein' God
Why do niggas talk shit? Niggas can't stick together
Seein' a nigga get killed, will make a nigga feel better
So, I just walk in a pace, thinkin' of the case of mothafuckas
Who trait pistol to your fuckin' face
This ain't no game, nigga, my finger's on the trigger
The time is runnin' out, my conscience sayin' I gotta get him
Is there a way, that a nigga can escape from Hell?
I fucked him up with the Mossberg buck shells, bitch
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