Fatt Macc & Baby Mel – "Control The Traffic"

Yeah, yeah, I gotta count up real quick (Lil' bitch) I gotta make sure it's all there We gettin' money, we hustlin', we gettin' too much money (We clearin') I don't even know— I don't even know how much this is (Turn me up, JWay) Feds doin' a sweep today, it's time to clear out the spot (We cleared it) Everybody movin' funny, I been peeped the plot (I peeped it) Every day that's a new bankroll (New bankroll), both of my pockets got knots (I'm loaded) If this shit ain't workin' out for you, just find another route (Woo) I'm the turkey bag man, planes and pills, et cetera (Yeah) Hot boy, three hundred degrees (Degrees), you don't know by now, I'm federal (I'm federal) Took your bitch to pound town (Pound Town), you don't know by now, you better (You dig?) Took some risks in hittin' the road (Woo), you don't know by now, we met them (Let's go) It ain't shit comin' through here, why? We control the traffic (Control it) Get down or lay down, lil' bitch (Lil' bitch), why? 'Cause we control the traffic (We control it) Boy, your numbers ain't even addin' up, you can't fuck with us (You can't fuck with us) Real hot boy, born and raised in this shit (Woo), ballin' like Michael (I'm ballin') Too gangster, ain't got no idol (No idol), never lack, trust in my rifle (You dig?) Talk to God, livin' my life, bitch shit, I had to pipe him (Yeah, on God) Trap shit, ain't got my Rollie watch yet, still rock rubber bands (I'm trappin') I'ma up the blower, he tryna walk up (Woo), forgot I got fans (Damn) In the fast lane, movin' slow (Movin' slow), I'm a lean sipper (Lean sipper) You ain't makin' no plays 'round here (Lil' bitch), we control the traffic (We control it) No confusion, I'ma get you right (Woo), we control the traffic (We control it it) And this chop pull a Houdini ('Dini), you ain't know I can do magic? It ain't shit comin' through here, why? We control the traffic (Control it) Get down or lay down, lil' bitch (Lil' bitch), why? 'Cause we control the traffic (We control it) Boy, your numbers ain't even addin' up, you can't fuck with us (You can't fuck with us) Real hot boy, born and raised in this shit (Woo), ballin' like Michael (On God) You can't get no package come through here, we catch it, we snatch it (You bitch) You want a pound or you want a zip? You cash it, we wrap it (You bitch) You want some pints, then they over here, we got it, quit askin' (Tris) I'm the trapper of the fuckin' year, we got it, quit askin' (On God) Five hundred for a fuckin' zip, they lost it, we have it (Yeah, ho) The whole city knowin' who we is, them **** can't stand us (On God) Controllin' everything over here, I need a new addy (Yeah) 'Cause I be still fuckin' with the mail, my mailman like family (My blood) It ain't shit comin' through here, why? We control the traffic Get down or lay down, lil' bitch, why? 'Cause we control the traffic Boy, your numbers ain't even addin' up, you can't fuck with us Real hot boy, born and raised in this shit, ballin' like Michael It ain't shit comin' through here, why? We control the traffic Get down or lay down, lil' bitch, why? 'Cause we control the traffic Boy, your numbers ain't even addin' up, you can't fuck with us Real hot boy, born and raised in this shit, ballin' like Michael