Throw It Up lyrics

by

T.I.


[Intro: Yelawolf]
Aye Boo get these motherf*ckers and pass that Jack

[Chorus: Gangsta Boo]
I see you b*tches talking loud but you ain't saying sh*t
Get the f*ck from round here, you don't rep my sh*t
You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
You don't want that drama, you ain't ready for it, b*tch
Now throw it up, yeah, ho, throw it up
Throw it up, yeah, ho, you ain't ready for it, b*tch
Throw it up, yeah, ho, throw it up, throw it up
You ain't ready for it, b*tch

[Verse 1: Yelawolf]
I already got, two cars in the yard that don't run
So why would I wanna break sh*t down for you
Better me confuse with the punchlines and bars that I launch
Here the king of debauchery come, with a cracker di*k
To f*ck you in that pus*y carpet you munch
If I'm not hardly the one
You must be barely the one billionth
Really you kidding, b*tch I'm the prodigal son
And I'm stunting like my Daddy
D-dr-d-drinking like my Mama
C-c-country like my uncles
Stuttering like a CD in a donk
BUMP, BUMP, BUMP, BUMP
And I'm in a blue Chevy
Running over motherf*ckers in first
I ain't even shift gears yet
I ain't even here yet, I'm outta this Earth
Right, yeah ho
But I just hit the surface
And I'm bout to walk into a bank
With a shank and a black can of paint to check the clerk
Where the keys
b*tch you better check your purse
I gotta brick of herb
And I hit the syrup
And I'm feeling like I might just hit the curb
So get the f*ck outta my way buddy
You don't wanna run around the chicken house with a heart of a puppy dog
Yelawolf and Eminem sh*t
Sufferin' succotash, yeah suck a di*k b*tch
[Chorus: Gangsta Boo]
I see you b*tches talking loud but you ain't saying sh*t
Get the f*ck from round here, you don't rep my sh*t
You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
You don't want that drama, you ain't ready for it, b*tch
Now throw it up, yeah, ho, throw it up
Throw it up, yeah, ho, you ain't ready for it, b*tch
Throw it up, yeah, ho, throw it up, throw it up
You ain't ready for it, b*tch

[Verse 2: Gangsta Boo]
b*tch please you don't wanna step up to this Misses
G-A-N-G-S-T-A Boo make a n*gga hit his knees when
I'm up in the building, preachin' to my children
I don't be taking no sh*t from you haters
You'll make me hurt one of your feelings
Ha ha ha ha
Nah nah ni nah nah
Pick your face up off the floor
I got you feeling sad now
You be on that Hokiewag, Hokiewag is bullsh*t
Run into this Gangsta, have your preacher at the pulpit b*tch
I was born on the Mississippi River
Take no sh*t from a b*tch or a n*gga
So, so crazy gotta f*cked up temper
Bi-pola', not Nicki I'm worser, I'll hurt ya
I got a crazy-ass mind game
Ma n*gga, I'm a lion, untamed
Hunt ya ass down in my jungle, I do this
I tell them hoes, you ain't ready for it b*tch
[Chorus: Gangsta Boo]
I see you b*tches talking loud but you ain't saying sh*t
Get the f*ck from round here, you don't rep my sh*t
You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
You don't want that drama, you ain't ready for it, b*tch
Now throw it up, yeah, ho, throw it up
Throw it up, yeah, ho, you ain't ready for it, b*tch
Throw it up, yeah, ho, throw it up, throw it up
You ain't ready for it, b*tch

[Verse 3: Eminem]
Me and Yelawolf
Tear the roof off this motherf*cker
You ain't got the umph
You're a hoof to the foot of an elephant
Hello toots, you look so eloquent
That's what I tell a c*nt
Come sit up front cause you're kicking my seat
And I'm trying to tell the cashier what I want
They say I act like an as*h*le
When I pull up at the White Castle
And I ask for an appli-cation
Throw it back in her face and
Tell the b*tch I'm a rapper, then I wack her
In the head with a Whopper
That I bought from BK, you expect me to be proper
b*tch you better pop in a CD of me immediately sl*t, ho
Skidda dee da da
Prada, not a chance
I was thinking about buying you some clothes
But Target's closed
So I decided to mosey on over to K-Mart but the doors
Was locked, what about some shoes I thought
Great I suppose
So I go to Payless but what'dya know
They didn't carry a size eight in hoes
Oh, this is ugly boy swag
Putting toe tags on you motherf*cking ho bags
What a Trailer Trash pioneer
I am yeah, that's why I'm here
I don't got a rhyme book it's more like a motherf*ckin' diary of diarrhea
Me, Yelawolf and Gangsta Boo came here to show you a thing or two
Bout sign language, middle fingers aimed at you
So we don't gotta scream at you
Ow, I just bit my bottom lip, it was an accident
I went to go tell em all to go get f*cked
But I'm never gonna bite my tongue
Little b*tch, throw it up
[Outro: Yelawolf & Eminem]
What the f*ck is this, White dog
Yo
Yo, what' up?
What' up?
Uh, you do that verse?
Yeah, I just killed that sh*t
What?
Nah, nothin'. Urm, yo, you know what I was thinking, man?
I think the one thing that er... that the album don't have
That might be missing
Is like er... a song for, like, for girls
Uh, what do you mean? For like b*tches?
Nah, girls. Like a love song
No?!
We need one!
Like—love song, love song?
Yeah, man, b*tches like love songs!
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