Artist: South Park Mexican Album: Hillwood Song: Comin' Up Comin' Down Typed by: Ltsjet@aol.com, no1wammy@hotmail.com [South Park Mexican] Down That G, in H-Town South bound, as I clown Come around, blaze a pound Comin' up Comin' down That G, in H-Town South bound, as I clown Come around, blaze a pound (Verse 1) Well, let me Jump, in this funk, with a pump and fake Give me five funky dollars, you can bump my tape Cause my flow come realer than a dealer servin' killer Ain't nobody trilla Still a body chiller Feel a millimeter comin' quicker than a cheetah Me drop you on your pita, then snatch your senorita I be the creeper, the back street sweeper Want a pound of reifer, then hit me on my beeper Leaf of the ganja, make me really want ya Dip me up in water Fried with me Sancha Got ya, me glock Pop, pop on your drop top The way I dodge cops, like the rock in hop scotch Drop a pig, I can dig, deep In your terrordome Smoke On my square alone, don't No one care at home Pair of chrome Gats, blow backs on the sidewalk I got My lock Poppin' hot rocks In your body, party hardy, Lodi Dodi Carley, your daddy smoke like Bob Marley Sorry, I'm hardly the one you should learn from Everywhere I turn, some, body wanna burn one It's the cursed son, worse than the first one When me gat burst, to the nurse or the hearse Cause I shoot 'em in the booty, man, local Hillwoodian Choppin' on a cookie, momma put me in the looney bin Could've been a better man Up in Never, Neverland Jesus's helpin' hand Reason this record jam Never ran, never will, still chill in Hillwood Damn sure feel good Livin' in a real hood Chorus: South Park Mexican Comin' up Comin' down That G, in H-Town South bound, as I clown Come around, blaze a pound Comin' up Comin' down That G, in H-Town South bound, as I clown Come around, blaze a pound Repeat Chorus (Verse 2) Now, you can work on knees, you can jack for keys I cut my cheese and get to stackin' G's I'm drinkin' Daquiri's, and ain't no jackin' these I got slack, in the front And the back of me It's a tragedy I was raised on streets Blazed on sweets, and sprayed posses Costly profession, learned my lesson Bout impressin' my clique with Smif-N-Wesson Addressin' ghetto issues When I sold me crack Had me mom goin' through a box of tissues But if I was in his, shoes, I'd probably Still lose It's in my blood to kill fools Him choose death when he disrespect Inject my tech, and then I press eject The Mex'll check Any clique that trips It don't make sense talkin' lip to clips Now which way to run Where do you hide Boo-yah, oooh ya, almost died Now take a ride with me Through the deep blue sky Here, take a hit, let me get you high Repeat Chorus Twice [South Park Mexican] Like that