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Artist: Z-Ro f/ Billy Cook 
Album:  Cocaine 
Song:   One Two 
Typed by: Lil Hustle 
Screwed Up Click for life, Z-Ro the Crooked 
AKA the King of the Ghetto, but y'all can call me Rother Vandross 
This year though ya dig, anyway mayn 
I'm just out here trying to shake the motherfucking pocket 
Pull a dollar out, ya know I'm tal'n bout everyday all day 
Heavy not small pay, nigga what ha-ha uh 
I wake up early in the evening, around 5:30 or 6 
My Nextel beeping, from all the calls I missed 
Brush my grill until it looks like, what's around my wrist 
Drop some kush in a cigarillo, and then give it a twist 
Pull out a black t-shirt beige Dickie pants, black house shoes 
Can't forget my candana, to give em the blues 
Open up the safe, and grab some paper 
Call Fo' up at Hemp Sports Clips, and let him know I need another taper 
Call up one of the smokers, to wash my ride 
Just like at the car wash, but he gon' do it right outside 
I don't kick it with fellas, I kick it with broads 
Fellas act like females, so why not kick it with a woman from the start 
My mind marinated, full of liquor 
Remember me in the hoo-doo, with expired tags and stickers 
But I'm on swangas today, and everything is blue over grey 
Look out Houston Texas, Z-Ro is on his way I'ma let the top down 
I'ma act, one two 
I'ma act, just like a nigga do 
I'ma act, one two 
I'ma act, just like a nigga do nigga 
Iiii'm, gon't let the top down 
Even though I'm 4's, I ain't swanging 
Rather roll cruise control, as the cigarilla blows 
Cell phone ringing, traffic light changing 
[Billy Cook] 
It's a sunny screwed up day outside 
Might as well pull out the candy slab, it's time to ride 
Go from candy blue to purple, right before your eyes 
Jackers think I'm slipping, but I keep them pipes on my side 
Gripping wood grain 
Homie if you love your life, don't run up on me mayn 
Ya damn right, I'm a legend in the game 
It's Billy Cook, and that nigga Joseph Wayne 
Yeah we have chips checks, and loose change 
Cause the ghetto, is where we come from 
The same place, boo you bitches run from 
Since the beginning, I had a pit for a hand 
Now I turned it into a winner, y'all haters don't understand 
Minimum wage nigga, now earning a hundred grand 
I can pay my own way, got my own money man 
B-I-L-L-Y C-O-O-K 
Foreign car now, was in a dropper yesterday 
Just like Big H.A.W.K., my cup is full of something bubbly 
And I'm on the boulevard, acting ugly 
But I'm not swinging, in and out of my lane 
Speaking of my trunk and the gorillas inside it, that's making it bang 
And if a jacker comes my way, I load my AK 
Don't think I won't spray, this'll be your last day 
I worked too damn hard for mine, 24-7 on the grind 
All you gon' end up with, is a hard time 
From I-10 to Beltway 8, to 59 South 
To purchase a sack of that lemon lime, and I'm out 
About to roll to my homegirl house, her man tripping 
Cause he think I got her stripping, but we just flipping 
And ain't no club hopping, even if the club hopping 
I'ma pass, never even take my foot off the gas 
I'm headed to the studio, to drop a couple of songs 
When I'm finished we gon' bounce and continue to roam, and let the top down 
[Hook - 2x]