Int'l Players Anthem Songtext
von UGK

Hypnotize Minds, UGK!
Three 6 Mafia, another classic baby
Put some South in your mouth
It′s goin down, what!

Sweet Jones
My bitch a choosy lover, never fuck without a rubber
Never in the sheets, like it on top of the cover
Money on the dresser, drive a Compressor
Top notch hoes get the most, not the lesser
Trash like to fuck with $40 in the club
Fuckin up the game, bitch it gets no love
She be cross country, givin all that she got
A thousand a pop, I'm pullin Bentleys off the lot
I smashed up the gray one, bought me a red
Every time we hit the parkin lot we turn head
Some hoes wanna choose but them bitches too scary
Your bitch chose me, you ain′t a pimp, you a fairy


Baby you been rollin solo, time to get down with the team
The grass is greener on that other side if you know what I mean
And I can make you the eighth if you wanna be my girl (girl)
When I say my girl I don't mean my woman, that ain't my style
Need a real street stalker (stalker) to walk a green mile (mile)
We pilin up the paper on the dinin room table
Cause you able to realize I′m the truth and not a fable (fable)
We rock the freshest sable, keep that ′chilla on the rack
What I look like with some thousand dollar shit up on my back?
I'm a million dollar mack that need a billion dollar bitch
Put my pimpin in your life, watch your daddy get rich
Easy as A-B-C, simple as 1-2-3
Get down with UGK, Pimp C, B-U-N B
Cause what′s a hoe with no pimp? And what's a pimp with no hoes?
Don′t be a lame, you know the game and how it goes
We tryin to get chose

Now when they heard who in the club DJ Paul, bitches chosen up
When they see I'm nice and like a slush, then they frozen up
Like my homie Project Pat we keep them cups raising up
Snizzle fizzay kiz-off in my dollar, gotta nose it up
I dial drink by the liters, I′m a drinker hoe
Before you doin it like meeee you's a thinker hoe
What you thinkin row? Need to get your money way up
UGK and Three 6 Mafia got your girl creamed up

I'm still trappin in hell, my pockets are swelled
The number one D-boy, Mr. Fishscale
I don′t fuck around, with snitches who tell
Put holes in your brain, leave bodies to smell
A mack here gettin paid, ain′t got time for jail
I paid off the judges, the jury, the sheriff
You know it's the truth, may never we′ll fail
I'm still +Sippin′ Syrup+, slow motion like snails