J-Mack [Hook:] It's Texas Fo' Life (I'm on it, I'm on it) Wooooooooooo (I'm on it, I'm on it, I'm on my grind) It's Texas Fo' Life (I'm on it, I'm on
I keep a loaded heater that's a auto and a semi I'm ridin in a big truck, I know that auto got a hemi I'm blowin purple stuff, that's purple stuff up
Fo' Life (I'm on it, I'm on it) Wooooooooooo (I'm on it, I'm on it, I'm on my grind) It's Texas Fo' Life (I'm on it, I'm on it) Wooooooooooo (Swishahouse
Boss It's Paul Wall, still representing Swishahouse I'm with my boy Big Kaila, I don't bar no hater I'm on the grind for paper, I'll holla at ya later
at me baby) I'm a pimp, I'll show her how I live Take her back then I put it in her wrist (Holla at me baby) I'm a monster, I do it real big You ain'
spot. You want credit, forget it, I did it on my own Gave you 300 bars, then said I'm gone But I'm back, this is rap and a fact is a fact They say
Saint Laurent boots, Yves Saint Laurent bag Keep the Pokeman in case a big bitch think I'm ass Eatin' through her stomach like a gastric, bypass Bitch, you better buy a
I'm sticking my dick up in the game and bustin in that like a train I'm hitting that mayne, look at this grain I'm grippin, I'm fixing to swang My
By a nigga named Big Phil, tote a big steel Give a damn if my record never sells, I'm the shit still [Chorus - 2X] [Paul Wall] I got the diamond
It's Paul Wall, still representing Swishahouse I'm with my boy Big Kaila, I don't bar no hater I'm on the grind for paper, I'll holla at ya later Forget
I'm furroshous like a bear but you a frollican dear I'm gettin filler ever clear chasen down wit a beer I can't steer, another DY and I'm gone for a year A
my number, this internet pimpin still prevails [Chorus] [Paul Wall] So I log on to the Facebook, I'm tryin to find me a good look I'm lookin for a
I saw a street corner angel Platinum problems pressed against the wall She paid her dues, bought stiletto shoes Had a real mean pimp named Paul Well
4X] [La Chat] I'm in the club I'm looking around I see you checkin me out I'm on that gin looking for a friend to put my ass in his mouth Ain't no doubt
But I handle my issue I got several pistols That won't whistle, missles not grisled from fatty tissue Mississippi's my home Till I'm die and I'm gone I
a gun (Yeah I'm talkin to you) fuck nigga you can hate all you wanna hate I know you a fake-make no mistake I'm talkin to you youz a lame uz a shame to
t no joke it's the truth Fuck a hater, let 'em do what it do I'm busy now, but I'll be through in a few And then I'm coming for you So keep shit talking
of rhyme I'ma, I'ma come through and show my wood pine Knockin, knockin doors down [Pimp C] R.I.P., R.I.P., R.I.P. to Robert Davis he the king of the