Song Lyrics

[Chorus]
Hey mister,
Stick out ya wrist, how many in this?
Stick out ya chest, are those baguettes?
I need to see how deep them pockets get.
Let me see if all that shit you talkin' really legit.

Fifteen miles an hour, maybe mo'.
You can make it straight from your seat to your front door.
You can get a glimpse of the one that they call Mo.
Mr. Low-pro, fans peepin' like there he go.
Two lane now, put yo' bite on me.
Y'all done waited too long, I got a tax ID.
Right ID, proper registration never thought I'd see.
Full coverage on my feet.
Hold up, slow it down and let me think about it.
Froze up, everything that you can see around me,
My neck, wrist, arm, the whole nine.
I done took you best shot, now, dirty, you hold mine.
Got cats goin' to jail tryin' to do what I do.
I got cats goin' through hell when the thing come through.
2-0-2, light gray blue.
Stitched in the carpet, you know who-ooh.

[Chorus]

[Nelly]
OK, now let me see ya do it, baby.
Don't be afraid, go now.
Don't be ashamed of how ya do it, baby.
Just go ahead and make yo' mama proud.

Jack Frost, f*ck it! What is cost?
Who the boss? Flossin' is applesauce.
Dirty third grade. Bought milk on Thursday.
Now I buy Escalades on birthdays.
Lex and Mercedes on these.
E's off these n-u-t's.
I cough and sneeze for frost bit sleeves.
It's not just me, but really my family.
You want the run down? Keep it poppin' to sun down.

Dirty, come now, I'm a show you who run the town.
Your baby daddy is most hated, can't listen to my song
When he at home, irrated when the video on.
I'm makin' ones with them niggas, see my ass in the club.
Puffin' the bud, and spendin' a hundred for every dub.
What he got in his hand? I'm at it again,
But I really can't stand a lunatic plan. Work it.

[Chorus]

[Nelly]
Ok, now let me see ya do it, baby.
Don't be afraid, go now.
Don't be ashamed of how ya do it, baby.
Just go ahead and make yo' mama proud.

You can call me what you want, but call me a come up
Before you run up, make sure your funds up. (Why?)
I'm gonna buy some shit out of her you ain't never seen,
But probably wrist bands, mo' denim starched jeans.
Diablo boots with the posher string.
I'll take a cream-a-team shirt with the Bentley sleeves.
Four-door swoosh made by Nike.
Drop-top jumpan suit, by Mike E.
Got to like my player, I'm in it for the dough.
I'm in it for show, matter fact I'm in it to blow.
When I wake up in the mornin' I'll be in it some mo'.
Guaranteed anytime, dial 3-1-4.
Do any escargot, gotta S car the go.
Zero to Sixty, dirty in four point O.
Second ranking niggas everywhere that I go.
I got the same, gotta have it, gotta have it for show.

[Chorus: x2]

[Repeat :x2]
OK, now let me see ya do it, baby.
Don't be afraid, go now.
Don't be ashamed of how ya do it, baby.
Just go ahead and make yo' mama proud.

Cornell Haynes, Jason Epperson