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T-Bone - Throw your hands up
(from the album The Last Street Preacha)
© copyright 2001

Verse 1
From my days of a juvenile, raised in church but lived thug style, back in tha days in my hood getting’ buckwild, running wit felons that be serving keys to O.G.’s and real pimps spitting game to ladies, drop Mercedes make ‘em go crazy, mammys trippin’ out screaming Hey Pappy, talking fast to tha chickens, while we pimpin’ and dippin’ throwing up sings and set trippin’, living la vida loca like Ricky, mom’s trippin’ out cuz my necks full of hickies, breath smellin’ like whiskey, busted, plus I’m saggin’ in a “T” and some dickies, just like Whitney, I’m tryin’ to blow up, but wanna do it while young like Brittney, ride to tha death of me, like KRS, this way my philosophy, but not no more.

All my rouges going ride tonight, getcha hands way up in tha sky tonight, from New York to tha Bay, get live tonight, cuz we making tha kinda music make ya feel alright.

Verse 2
Thug passion got me flashing on all rivals, Henessey had me trippin’ feeling suicidal, full of all tha hurt pain and tha misery, madd at tha world for the things that it did to me, California just make a playa wanna ride, throw up a dub, be a thug, Havler Westside, till I die, young “G” from tha projects, stealing watches, why? To impress all my rouges and tha notches, so live life cautious, cuz nowadays tha streets is filled with armed killers and narcotics, just can’t stop this, what, type of sound, make ya groove throw yo hands up move all around, just bounce to tha rhythm, nod ya head like a pigeon, to this chase beat that’s hittin’, from Britain, tha U.K., L.A., to my dogs locked down in tha prison.

Verse 3
Something for tha pretty ladies and tha thugs too, in that East, Westcoast and tha South too, we all bout it Ma, and like cube show me love in tha club, wit a mobster kiss on both cheeks and thug hugs, throw yo hands up, wave ‘em side to side, Ladies, Ridas, made men tonight, we gonna party like its 2999, no crime, just California beaches under sunshine, plus one time ain’t trippin’ on me or my girl laced wit tha rocks and Versace, black boots and mosquino, Mexican, half black, Philippino, it’s all good, now bounce like a check that ain’t got not funds and party like you just won half a million. Oh what a feeling, now everybody in tha house get ya hands to the ceiling.