[Intro]
For all you player haters out there
You've tuned into the sounds of the Southern Style DJs
(Yup)
You've tuned into the sounds of the Southern Style DJs
(Yup)
[Maceo Speaking]
Yea, nuh uh uh— uh uh. Ay, ay bruh, nuh uh, uh uh, ay—
Don't hit me dog, come see me. Yuh
I ain't tryin to talk, uh, I ain't tryin to talk, get me back. Yuh
Fuck wrong with that nigga
Hey, quit hittin' me, dog. Come see me
Fuck wrong with that nigga, man?
We don’t do no talkin' over no phone
Fuck wrong with this nigga ass, man?
Hey. This nigga here trippin’, dog
Nigga tryna jam me up, man
Uh uh
Nuh uh
[Hook]
Nigga don't hit me on the Nextel chirp
If you’re tryna conversate about some motherfuckin’ work, nope
Nigga don't hit me on the Nextel chirp
If you’re tryna conversate about some motherfuckin’ work. Why?
Because they ’hind em, they ’hind ’em, they ’hind ’em
If them feds find em, they find ’em, they find ’em
Man, them feds ’hind ’em, they ’hind em, they ’hind ’em
If them feds find ’em, they find ’em, they find ’em
[Verse 1: Maceo]
Nigga don't hit me on the Nextel chirp
The Sprint or the Metro ’bout some motherfuckin’ work
Look, I don't give a fuck if your tryna buy some purp
See, the phone conversation ain’t e’en tryna twerk
And don't text message me, hit me on my two-way
Talkin’ bout look'chere man, I'm tryin to get a two-way
Oh yeah, what’s the ticket goin’ for a four-way?
I ain't tryin to have them feds runnin’ in my doorway
See, I been doin’ this shit here for a long time
Nigga did 25 years over phone time
That's a long time to be tryin’ to ride out
Pickin up my phone like, “Meet me at the hideout”
Cause over the air ain’t e’en tryna talk
I gives a damn about whatcha tryna spend or whatcha bought
Them folks ear hustlin' outside in a van
Tryna peep out who the motherfuckin’ man
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Fats]
You ain't gotta chirp me talking ’bout some cocaine
Especially referring about some motherfuckin’ chump change
Dog, what’s your problem? You talk like you wired
What you tryin' to do? Send a nigga to the fryer?
Don't try to get me jammed up ’cause you know they listening
(Well let me cop a ounce)
Who is this? Dog, you trippin’
(Well let me cop a brick)
No, dog, talk business
Never would I slip up and make the wrong decision
End up like Irv Gotti
Conversation they got it
’Cause of a dumb nigga chirpin’ wanna talk about it
Naw, dog, don't do it
Ask Jamal Lewis
One slip over the phone
Time— you gon do it
They ain't showin no love. They got to ship him off
Less time if you motherfuckin' pay ’em off
Well I ain't payin’ shit, dog. You gotta listen, homes
Take heed of what I'm sayin’: don't chirp my phone!
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Maceo]
Don't get surprised when that letter in the mail
Indicted by them folks ‘cause they know what you sell
$800,000 bail. God damn, what the hell!
Now you cased up doin’ pushups in a cell
Then I swear to God, dog, let them feds find ya
Talking on the radio man, they gon ride ya
Lost in the system, ducked off cause they ’hind ya
They be like, "Damn, where he at, I can't find him"
So you better listen to the codes of the street
You tryna jump in it not knowin’ that it's deep
This concrete ocean shit deeper than a sea
This ain't a swimming pool, oh, it’s coming past your knees
You got it fucked up, better play the game smart
Nigga check the game the same since them PowerTel cards
[Hook]
