Freestyle

It's Mike Jones, back on the track
I pack a gat when I'm in the 'Lac
I wreck a track, tight or wack
To make sure my paper stack
'Cause if I don't grind then I don't shine
If I don't shine I get left behind
I hit the block, stack a knot and shake the spot for one time
I keep my business on the low-low
'Cause haters snitch and tell the po-po
I ride solo in my four-door
Carrying calico and .44's
I wreck the mic everywhere I go
My name heard everywhere I go
You tried Denaun but I know you know
You tried Denaun but I know you know
If you wanna get me for a show
Or get me to feature on a flow
Hit 281-330-8004
If you wanna get me for a show
Or get me to feature on a flow
Hit 281-330-8004

Swang the Pacific in the DSR boat
I flip a lil' city, stacks of C-notes
So I'm puttin' diamonds all in your face
Put on your shades
VVS's gon' glare in your face
I rock the mic but I wasn't on tour
I eat at places where they call me "Mazur"
Sit at the table, can't read the menu
Stop the beat, look out the window, watch the rims continue
Tony Montana style with a slit in my brow
Spent big watts on the watch, five thou', bling-blaow
Call me Tom T, I'm big homie with the rocks
Look at the ear, look at the grill
Look at the necks, look at the watch
Tom T, hood boss, OG, out the 3
You would think I was Ashanti how the screams rain on me
Still magnificent on the mic like I was Jones
You lookin' at royalty, bitch, come direct me to the throne

When you see me on the block, I'm on my grind
And when I'm ducked off in the trap, it's hustle time
I'm 'bout my paper, 'bout my cash, I'm 'bout that green
I never roll, I'm a soldier, I'll take one for the team
Paul Wall, Swishahouse, Swisha-blast 'bout cash
Gotta get up off my ass 'cause time flies fast
Opportunities pass but I'm still the same OG
Reeboks and white tees, I'm still the same old P
When you see me at the club, I'm at the bar
And if a gal all in my mix then she a star
Pretty face, slim waist, with a Coca-Cola shape
But she don't want me, she just boppin' off my car
I'm a player, I'm a hustler, I'm a mack
Candy paint, swingers on the Cadillac
Paint drippin', kinda damp
Paul Wall the people's champ
I wonder what them haters think about that

I'm a hood doctor, hit Foot Locker and grab jerseys
Bust a flow and make hoes say, "Have mercy"
Like Uncle Jesse, my trunk is messy
From throwin' haters in it
I'm in a Navigator tinted
My rims spinnin', when I stop they do the wiggle-wiggle
Whip is little, candy paint look like little Skittles
I'm in Dallas on that 635
I get brain from 6:30 'til 6:35
Make them hoes go live
New fours, buck-eyed
Make them hoes hop inside and expose those thighs
After I nut it's like, "Fuck them boppers"
Pull up, new Maybach truck on choppers
Glad that I made it, it's never been fun in the struggle
'Cause these chips on my shoulders ain't Funyuns or Ruffles, nigga
It's Magno, Mike Jones, Tom T, Fat P
Fuck it, man, Perfect Team part three, nigga