C-BO - Professional BallersLyrics

Yeah ladies first so watch me set it off even the brothers can't touch us Professional Ballers is what they call us ain't no tellin' who we're bailin' Kentucky Texas ATL strikin' in a Lexus The nigga that want to test this Thought this shit was shut down thought this shit was dead like Makaveli Cali legends keep it goin', bout this player shit I'm knowin' Haters, I know you're bumpin' this shit so here's another daltz From the Bay to the SCC, you heard us straight from California's most We don't need no practice, no theatrics Bout the way we be livin' with the Mafia tactics, I be constantly at it Tryin' to stack my riches like Bill Gates Servin' raw and uncut caine so you can't hate Because it angers me when niggas try to bite my ass But we be Professional Ballers hittin' at the top-notch ass Pass the green leaf on the left, inhale a breath of chronic smoke Exhale like a pro, I be too much for you to cope [Chorus: x2] We steady countin' our money, on a mission to ball All the things we dream we want to see before we call So we pack heavy, push Chevy's, makin' the 'fetti If you're ready to holler at a Professional Baller Baby Capone on the loose, skywalk and fly shit Off Paraguay, Glock in the drop plus we're hidin' Astronauts, turnin' in shit for the soldiers that recop Shoot outta state pushin' killer Cali rocks Big wreckin' ball nuts and you can notify the monks I be flossin' in gators, maybe ??? ??? Tennis shoes, press our shit Aliens gank and flew, runnin' out to see you With the loot Yeah West Coast Mafia, bitch Everybody else can suck a dick I'm steadily tryin' to get my bail on Tapped me up on the cell phone, it ain't far Stomped in steel toes, I look out my ??? so back up off me The K-I-double L-A T-A-why, call me the locster Only smokes the bombest chronic, Professional Ballers like the Sonics Respect game, with or without these gold chains We're sure the West got shit sold From the rap game to the cocaine, come get some Got pounds like a kick drum, got hitmen Payin' 'em under the table, lyrics fatal like a ninja No pretendin', we're steady ballin' [Chorus] From the Valley to the Bay, I'm known for stackin' chips My 500 whip be hip with the AMG hit '74 drop Caprice, gold ones dip Candy-coated sport, Professional Ballers don't trip Makin' moves, pushin' luxuries to ol' schools I spit the A-1, that's why my pockets weigh a tonne And my crew be Mafioso's, high performance and low-lows Professional Ballers on the go and get more doe Who keep it knockin' with mean choppers? My niggas keep it poppin' We're rockin', Professional Ballers, Figga-Ro will be the tallest Player that you spot, duck or dodge? It's all, turn the Impalas all skirty Left em deserted, heat em where their pockets hurted Sold it up by then, two quarters and half a flynn With my nigga Bo-Loc in the 500 Benz Ready to bust and make it happen fo' sho', so stack G's With them 8-ball gangstas And the young mack knees and that's for sheez [Chorus]