On Our Grind

(Caretta) Ooooh, yeeah Presidential roll deep, and that's for sho We got that M.O.B. Style, M.O.B. Style M.O.B. Style, M.O.B. Sty-e-yle (yeah) [Big Pokey] Keep quiet don't talk, peep the fifth and chill Bumping bout something you heard, don't know if it's real You don't like m but when you see me, you showing your grill Skinning and grinning for what, do you know what it is I got a face full of tears, cause the game done scarred me Niggas I lost, right now I ain't the nigga to cross The bigger the balls, more of the money bigger the boss I wear the pants in the house, and I call the shots Keep my head to the sky, when my well run dry Treating my spits, some of y'all know what I'm talking about Some of y'all got it twisted around, think it's a joke Cold fix, though we need some throw Everybody on dope, trying to cope with life Cause hold with Christ, cause that's the one that wrote your life Sometimes I don't sport my knife, I just wear my cross And if it's on, then I'm for my routes [Hook: Caretta] All my life, I'ma beat these streets and stack my ends All about my do' ain't got no friends All my life, still blinding hoes with glassy 4's Presidential roll deep, and that's fa sho all my life [Big Pokey] Throw your hands in the air, cause it's hard but it's fair Nobody to turn to, nobody don't really care No hat with no hair, when it's cold outside And you alone outside, a track with no square I'm trying to get, from A to Z But my ride be tripping, I don't think this hoe gon make it to B I know what these niggas, waiting to see A nigga slip and fall it ain't no love, I got a a clip for y'all This for my niggas on the wall, with a slash in they name Holding it down, I'm bout to leave a gash in the game Got a license for my strap, I ain't stashing the thang On the block hot or cold, plus the nastiest rain What this cash game like, don't earn it and burn it It's discipline, dog you gotta stack it and turn it Burn your odors, punching the clock Earn your Rover 2K4, the game is over [Hook] [Big Pokey] I'm a M.O.B. nigga, and I love to ride I-6-3-3-50, let's touch the sidewalk I walk it like I talk it, sometime I chill Sometime I let go inside talk it Some say, located in the dirt In the Tre, my K bullets hit niggas in they vertebrae Let em know, what the Southern bout It's them V-Dozens parked, we holding the block Stuff my crotch, when I got in the Benz Three quarter mink coat, blocking the wind Hard Ward hollering, yo I got a twin Six in the morning, it's on again Break back on the six tens, Superbowl Thinks he did, but I did cruise control Patience nigga, keep your grind Move more dope, than a Nino Brown They think we broke hoe, we gon shine M-O-B Style, low in the mind [Hook] (Caretta) Presidential baby, M.O.B. Style baby Yeah yeah