Paul Wall & Termanology Ft Bun B – Houston BBQ Lyrics

Houston BBQ Lyrics by Paul Wall & Termanology Ft Bun B

[Intro: Bun B]
Hold up
Goddamn
This ho go, I ain’t lyin’ (For real)
This bitch go right here (Know what I’m sayin’?)
I been waitin’ a long time to rock one of these Large Professor beats (Big facts)
Back on the block
With my brothers Paul and Term’
Round two, let’s get it, baby (Let’s roll)
Ayy

[Verse 1: Bun B]
Hey, I wake up in the morning thinkin’, “The world is mine”
Living in a house that’s big with a girl that’s fine
Ride around in the car that cost more than an Ivy League education
I don’t sip Starbucks, I make ’em
As-salamu alaykum to the gods
Middle finger up to the fraud
Stick my middle finger up in your broad
You a sucker with a gangster façade
I’m the dealer pulling your card
No holds barred, I go so hard
Put me on a beat by Large Pro
I spit a verse that left for dead in Paul garage though
But what you expect when you beckon the OG?
I reckon get to wreckin’, six foot is down to four three
None of it done low-key, I broad-day you
You know me, where I see you is where I’ma lay you
On the ground, screamin’ out, “Somebody help me”
It’s Bun, Paul, and Term’ on production from LP

[Verse 2: Paul Wall]
I stay true from the womb to the tomb
Married to the grind, we the bride and groom
My cup full like the moon, full of Warren Moon
Left my nuts on your chin, but I’ll be back soon
Don’t assume that we the same, you must be high like noon Inhaling balloons to think that you can make me gloom
Build real life bonds, not just on zoom
Rest in peace Pimp C and MF DOOM
Make room for the Slab, I’m ’bout to park it
Drank-stained carpet, don’t get me started
Got greens like the farmers market, let’s go spark it
I got goals for the squad and we right on target
It’s uncharted, the final destination
Pardon me, I drive slow, please be patient
With Bun and Large P in the rotation
Termanology in the equation, it’s the Paul Wall Paper

[Verse 3: Termanology]
I’m at the blue note counting blue notes, pit blue nose
Karate flip quick to a brick like judo
Hoppin’ out the whip, two-door, papi, you know
Movin’ through the app, now we trapped through the two row
We all got classics, depend who you asking
I’d be doing anything my pen can imagine
Autobiographic, kings of this rap shit
The heart-colded assassins
My expertise, show you had to get this cheese
They know I’m the main source, I got extra beans
Slam the door in your face, no respect for these
Eloquently, I take it to the next degree
It’s the triple OG, Slab God, and me
So many GOATs in the room, they could hardly breathe
If you see me in the garden, pardon me
I’m doing my thing as you should be doing the same
[Outro: Bun B & Paul Wall]
One, two, three of the best that ever did it
Got my brother Paul to the right and Term to the left of off me
Wall Paper, Term’, and Bun B
One, two, three of the best that ever did it