[Intro/Chorus: repeat 2X]

And we gon' stay hustlin on that block until we caught

And we gon' stay showin off that jewelry that we bought

And we gon' stay leavin out the stores with heavy bags

Cause we poppin tags, pimpin we be poppin tags!



[Verse One: Jay-Z]

We arose, let's go

"So Fresh So Clean" like 'Kast

Jay-Z be poppin tags

Leavin the mall with heavy bags

You know the boy got a love for the cash

Aw fuck, there he go again

Talkin bout hoes and dough again

Yup! -- Can't hold it in

I'm surprised I got so much dough to spend

But, back when I was poorer then

You wasn't focusin, about the dough I spend

But I was holdin in, I was a roller then

I was a baller back then, all of that man

Fall back, I fought that

What would you do if you was in my shoes?

Leave dudes in the rearview

V-12 engine, corners spinnin

Twinkies shinin, pinky ring

Armadale, nigga stinky stink

Top, down, my cash is up

Gold chain, I don't give a fuck

Gold brain'll get you in the truck ma

That's right, you in luck ma

You see me cruisin down, better step inside

Ain't enough room to fit you all in the ride

First come, first served basis

You know Hov' be goin to nice places

That's right, and I'm droppin cash

Leave the mall with garbage bags

Gucci this, Prada that

Roll witcha boy you'll be poppin tags



[Chorus]



[Verse Two: Twista]

It's a party when I go up in the sto'

Shoppin while I'm zooted off the dro'

Rollin like a nigga that just came up on a mill'

and I got 'em sweepin and pickin up tags off the flo'

Bag full of clothes I remember havin rocks in the hall

on the glimmer with the glock by the ball

Servin up a jab and workin security 6 to 6

Then it's straight from the block to the mall

Now what's on the wall? Go ahead and treat yo'self

When you come up on some cheddar better pop that tag

Like when I dip off in the Prada then I go off

to the lot lay the paper down and cop that Jag

I got a console full of ammunition and funds

Mink Roc-a-Wear and some guns

Petty in a fresh pair of jumps, blo-packs and Bo Jax

and Air Maxes, throw back some ones, no max for none

(When I go up in the sto' a nigga never get enough)

I'm a baller and if you want it come and get it now

(Nigga come to a race with a car you won't catch up)

And the Twista kinda wicked when I spit it now

I be choppin up cheddar with Kanye

Chop a little cheddar up with Jay

Chop it up with the O-to-the-Kizay

Poppin big tags with the flow and the dough, we get bi-zay!



[Chorus]



[Verse Three: Killer Mike]

Uh-huh, whattup? Tell you somethin bout me..

My throwback game is whiffle wicked

Saint Patties day, green pinstripe, number 20 Mark Spitz'n

Jersey ooh-wee with the matchin Nu*Wear fitted

White boys say my style is bitchin

Keepin coke in the kitchen

Keep a glock that will shock and bring the rest

tucked underneath my Michelin S

I, travellin, handlin with a forty-five cannon

It's tucked in my Marc Buchanan

Extra clips and shells in the lambskin

Two deep by Pelle Pelle

Westside how they felly fell

More G's on me, than a late 80's Gucci leather

worn by the great Rakim himself

Stitch my Dapper Dan oh man with the gun in hand

I leave your blood squirting

No offense, I'll put your face on the chest

of a sweatshirt drawn by Shirt Kings

I been fucking, a hustle, married to a racket

since the first Air Jordan's and Starter jackets

I slept with a package, under mattress

I carry guns heavy speakeasy, slight with the fight words

I'll put somethin hot through your motherfuckin iceberg

Got a project chica, named Rica

She keep a purse full of dro' reefer

Small, pinkies like that

Talk 'til the paper fat

I rock somethin, roll chief +Sacks+ like Daddy Fat!



[Chorus]



[Verse Four: Big Boi]

Pop tires in reverse, you'll be needin a nurse

Leave you layin on your back in a Cadillac hearse

Now your momma in all black with a matchin purse

I know you wanna blow up, but a funeral hurts

What's worse, you can hit the mall and ball 'til you fall

Have to make a collect call, but your cell cut off

Trot to the mailbox thinkin a check but the mail's run short

No more MD, DD, LD

That means Movie Date, Dinner Date, Lunch Date, help me please

My sheets is gone

Long bread to the short bread, word is bond

Meticulously pimpously serve the song

Act a damn donkey

Like the pilgrims when they popped a tag on the indians home

Drop top rag-o with the weed gone

Chillin, bags in the trunk full of FEO Schwartz for the chill'uns

Spent a few shillings

Sip a few chickens, lick a few kittens, just kiddin

A fresh bowl of milk is in the fridge and

Can you pop the tags on the honeycombs

Or are you actin mad cause the money done

slowed, down, just a little bit

Dipped, poked out, did some shull-bit

Actin like a pitfall bull-pit

Dead game is the pul-pit

Leave a motherpumper with his John Doe toe tag clipped

Imperial classic, a lyrical thrashin

A miracle happenin

Jay-Z, Killer Mike and Big Boi rappin and rhymin and smabbin

Pop that tag on some of this game

Holla-tic, swallow and keep the change



[Chorus]


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