Slangin' Dem Thangs - Profit

We’re about to set it off, something like this

Uh, uh, uh, uh

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Now that’s the sound over me slanging them things

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Do, do, do, do

Freeze, put your hands up, get on the curb, now

They’re trying to put a nigga under the courts

Because the cops found a stash in a duffle bag under his porch

I’ve got to keep a four five Colt revolver

Because I get paid like Tyrese from the Coke, I’m palming

Haters want my hot buzz

Switch the code, and I’m bombing

That’s why I push a black H2, roll in armour

You know Profit’s got to hold a llama

Because I stay posted at a crack house with my posters on it

I know I’ve got to stay watching, got to stay clocking

If the Fed’s try to knock me, I’ve got to pay Cochran

You niggers' try to hate on this, I ate Kano quick

And cut your connect the Yayo bricks

We keep more German pistols than Adolf Hit

And if the block is too hot, we just 'aye' off this

This for all my folks hustling, all my people grinding

Holler out the hood whistle right before you hear the siren like

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Now that’s the sound over me slanging them things

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Do, do, do, do

Wait, back off, scrub

Every time you see Profit, man, he’s bagging up dubs

All my blows come packed with a baggy of bud

I stay grinding, my fiends look happy and what

They want to felony or misdemeanors

But its all love when we hit the court like Serena and Venus

On the block like nobody can stop us

Body the coppers, and bounce to Hawaii in choppers

Stay strapped when I’m pumping the packs

I’m like a golf course, keep a nine in the front and the back

I’m sick of fake Nino bastards, who only step on blocks

When they only stepped on they Lego castles

Seat back in a black Maybach’s

Flipping those without touching those, every night like Pat Sajak

Security stay grinding, can’t get caught sleeping

That’s why you hear the sound of the cops creeping

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Now that’s the sound over me, slanging them things

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Do, do, do, do

I’m The Rock on the block, I’m laying the smack down

First you smell me cooking and I’m breaking the crack down

You can catch Profit still flipping out packs

In front of the Twins building with a Bentley out back

Y’all rappers living check to check, pockets are empty

Waiting for your next hit like Bobby and Whitney

Who’s that parking in the M3

I know its them people wait for the signal, they holler at me

Blocks stacking the trash, rocks stacking the stash

Hop in the hoop tie, back to the lab

When I’m through packaging the coke

Here’s a fresh white tee, to the hood with a package in my coast

Slanging things like an NBA game, my team ruthless

I push the rocks up so my fiends can shoot them

'Profit, I’m making sure that the streets is juking

God damn, not again, man the D’s is swooping'

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Now that’s the sound over me, slanging them things

Do, do, do, do, there they go, there they go

Do, do, do, do