Alba s touto skladbou:
Jackpot,
Chingy
He's Herre
Jackpot
Hook 1:
Uhhh uhhh uhhh
He's herre (this is a Track Star production)....he's herre...he's herre (for my nigga' chingy up in herre)
Yeah (the illest nigga in the game, no need the same old, go and kill 'em) he is herre
Chorus:
Don't be scared now (he's herre)
Got it made now (he's herre)
Came to lay it down
He---is-(really)--Herre
Don't be d's'courg'd now (he's herre)
Got it made now (he's herre)
just pray to God he don't hit ya
Verse 1:
Back slap that ass, clap that ass, trapped in body bags
Glocks or mags, for a block of fast, park the trash, drop ya fast
Never jock a cat, I would blast out a stack, rock a half, watch my math
Stock the stack so I watch my stash (style?)
Cock and grab, open up, chop and grab
Quarter bags, order that, water last, snort a half
Have ya comin' back cuz I import the stash
Escort the hash, extort the 'raff
Cut the pass, brought my mass
Sort my cash, on the dock, block is hot
Keep it in a proper spot, adopt a cop, rob a spot
Plot a heist and cop a knot
Drop a pot, slot a lot, jackpot a lot
Already got a lot, wildin' out in my ride
So...
Chorus 2x:
Verse 2:
We are dangerous, mangle us who slang with us, insane and stuff, and puff a gang of stuff and aim to bust
You strange and tough, no thang to us, famous stuff, game I love, train my sluts to give brain and cuss, learn pain and plus
Get tricks to claim they bucks, think they nuts, slurp them up, hooker work them up, wake them up, break 'em fuck, cake and crust, stank 'em up
Makin stuff, in ya twat, hit the streets, then the blocks, then or not, hit the dentist swatch in a scotch
Top notch on my roster, busta eatin' pasta, drop her in the closet, clamp you like a lobster, have my ho to rob ya
Then dodge her, any ho need work I got a job for, go see the supplier, make like you a buyer, goodbye slut
Trick these fake playas out they weapons, take em buy em up messiah, wait and bring 'em back to ma and pa ya
Chingy keep these heifers on the strip and on fire, try 'em
