(Pimp C) I gotta come down, I got a bangin trunk So when I come through you feel the slab just bump Them niggas sipin syrup and them bitches on that gin Man hit that sweet one time for Smoke-D locked down in that pen I'm blowin out the window, you know I'm rollin glass I'm bumpin that Screw, that t-a-t, that boy actin a ass Cause down in Texas nigga, we got our own stores We got the baddest bitches and we roll the freshest cars I flip to New Orleans by you clask I'm on the scene Got dress improvement steam I step out that bitch so clean I poured out some liquor on the street for that fool Todd He was a trill ass nigga never came at me prod Man I was talkin to Playa G just the other night He told me about this nigga that was talkin about me shife Fool nigga this UGK Bun and C we run the streets And tell your bitch ass brother he can't fuck with my beats So if you wanna be bangin nigga the good shit don't come cheap I'm talkin 7000 over 3 knock off a G Cause fool this ain't no game nigga all about my change I'm comin baby Fleetwood swangin on them thangs
(Chorus 4x) I gotta come down I gotta stay real I gotta break them boys off bumper and grill
(Bun B) Now tell me what it's all about in the south Big gold grill in you mouth Much leather inside yo car, on yo back, in yo house Sit in a nigga's ride the seats feel like a couch Big keys in my pouch Bitch if it hurt say ouch Now if I look like a south don't try to cap You know a nigga like me be ridin dirty with big dope up in his lap Oh, but when I'm shinin bitch I'm blazin Hoes shrivlin up like raisins talkin bout it so amazin How big Bun be rollin through Texas with sexy hoes keepin they wig done Bustas bite the big one From dis to dip this swisher houses Let's flip from that maker maker to that after hours on Scott They always drinkin trip mixed with crush 75 or 4 Make a nigga wanna fuss, but I can't Cause I need the rush of codeine so I can lean I prop a pill Cause I'm trill to the bone Crushin with that crome
(N.O. Joe) What's up bruh this N.O. Joe representin gumbo Funk in you trunk that got yo ears wide open like you dumb ho I'm livin larger than most a coast to coast slipper That ice-bowl sipper that's never known to be a set tripper Too many diamonds for you to try to look at directly Haters don't check me they respect me A pistol packin, no shank, shiny grill, full tank Checkin out these bustas thinkin they real when they ain't Y'all call me mister foreign I'm comin down at navy porscha Either way I'ma be a highway scorcher, blunt torcher I'm catchin out doin 120 on the tallway the whole way Turnin the corners that I once hung out I got the boppers strung out Walkin around with they tounge out Naw, I stay behind the wheel grinnin Burnin 500 dollar rubber, 5000 dollar rim spinnin
Ta strona używa cookies. Dowiedz się więcej o celu ich używania - przeczytaj naszą politykę cookies.
Korzystając ze strony wyrażasz zgodę na używanie cookies, zgodnie z aktualnymi ustawieniami przeglądarki.