1, 2, 3 lyrics

[Intro]

1 to the motherfuckin 2 to the motherfuckin 3

[Hook]

1,2,3 points I gotta get across

1 don't 2 make me 3 go off

1,2,3 points I gotta get across

1 don't 2 make me 3 go off

[Verse 1: Shawn Jay]

We came up from the bottom to the top (top)

Started wit the rocks

Used to sell 'em to the fiends

Now I got 'em in the watch. (whoa)

Two years off the scene, heard enough of ya fuckin' trash

We returned now to make you suffer like succotash

Run up and the pump will blast

My niggas is dopin

I'm the film in the camera nigga, picture me rollin'

Picture me blowin', trees chiefin' purple daily

Weed – no seeds – call it Virgin Mary

Chevy, they say we broke up (Chevy: Oh yeah?)

But we do shows and split ends like blow dried hair

Hold up, Joe stop the song, (what?)

Field Mob the answer to the question, "What if BIG & Pac woulda got along?"

Put us on whoever song, fast, slow, no facade

Getcha Bible, check the credits, Shawn go slow for God

With that said, I been blessed, oh man

The chain red like a caffeine-free Coke can

So, damn the critics; y'all really fake

We got hotter 16s than that R. Kelly tape

Make cheddar when I grab the mic

See when the Mob in town

Hoes go out in bad weather like a satellite

Never have to ask 'em twice, do it for the fuck of it

Anything, pop a pill, drink a lil, suck a dick

Who you with, fuck ya click, stay in ya place

Charlie Murphy what did the five fingers say to the face?

SLAP!

[Hook]

1,2,3 points I gotta get across

1 don't 2 make me 3 go off

1,2,3 points I gotta get across

1 don't 2 make me 3 go off

[Verse 2: Chevy P aka Smoke]

I swear to God you never heard me spit it this way

I'm warning ya

I'm finna snap like turtle lips in a lake

I wrap more than a Egyptian coroner, ya rhymes are boring us

Listening to you is like watching wet paint dry

Ya lyrics I bet they taste sweet

Stop spittin them kit-kat candy bars and give me a break please

Start writin' ya rhymes yaself;

As a matter of fact, here's a mirror and a map – go and find yaself

Cause you been fake

You frontin' like you did time in the state pen

But really was a nerd at Penn State

Cut the bullshit, you're not a hustler

Y'all remind me of where I rent my DVDs at – Y'all some Blockbusters

Confessin like Usher, soft as baby food

Fixin to get us off the block like star 82

Mad, cause I'm comin up and you ain't

And I'm buyin stuff that you can't

I ain't 50 Cent, but I got bucks in the bank

And I got a million dollar dick bitch

Wood worth a lot of cash

If I fuck her in the butt, she have money out her ass

Claimin' you pimpin' but ain't got one bitch

The only hoes you got is the one you water your lawn with

To you hoes that fuck for fun, and the ones that fuck for fetti

If you ain't finna fuck Shawn, then you ain't finna fuck Chevy

To The Source

Like a groupie in love with Jordan Jackson, Vick Ervin, and Tyson

I want 5 mics man

DAMN!

[Hook]

1,2,3 points I gotta get across

1 don't 2 make me 3 go off

1,2,3 points I gotta get across

1 don't 2 make me 3 go off

• Artist:Field Mob
• Album:Light Poles and Pine Trees (2006)