Lletres: Paul Wall. How To Be A Player. Oh No.

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[Hook]
Oh no, there go them Texas boys banging in a fo' do'
Top fell out the drop, crawling on 84's
Think of taking my slab, baby I don't think so
My heat under my seat, and I don't love you hoes
Living it like a G, but still I gotta lay low
Five percent or ten, but still my screens gon glow
These haters be in my mix, and these boppers be on my dick
Everytime I come round the corner

[Paul Wall]
I'm from the land of opportunity, in God we trust
But haters in my mix, got me paranoid and disgust
I'm scoping out my side mirrors, when my car's in park
It's after dark, and my slab is fresh meat to these sharks
Boys thinking I been drinking, so I'm off my note
But I got seventeen surprises, tucked inside of my coat
See me strut through the parking lot, on 22's plus
It's a must I make all haters, eat my dust
Them jump-out boys, waiting trying to catch me slipping
I ain't tripping, grain ain't the only thing that I'm gripping
Boys jacking with these tow trucks, thinking they slick
But take a trip to South Lee, and end up in a ditch
They got my purple people eater once, the next day
I bought a Range Rover cash, and a new set of fronts
I've been on feet for months, I'm taking haters to lunch
Paul Wall and Trae, hit em with that one-two punch

[Chorus]