Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song In da Wind, artist - Trick Daddy. Album song Thug Holiday, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 05.08.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Slip-N-Slide
Song language: English
In da Wind |
| Hah, haha |
| That’s just the sound of the Hen'. |
| True Story. |
| Buddy Roe. |
| They say tell the truth, Shane and them (uh-huh) |
| Thank God for the thugs too… |
| Drop the top and let the sunshine in |
| With the woodgrain, let the twinkies spin |
| Get you a glass, mix the Coke and the Hen' |
| It’s quite alright, with the 'dro in the wind, |
| with the 'dro in the wind |
| I’m a ol' sneaky, ol' freaky, ol' geechy-ass nigga |
| Collard green, neckbone-eatin-ass nigga |
| Always wearin my jeans baggy saggy |
| You know Florida, Georgia, South Cakalaky |
| Growed up eatin spam sandwiches |
| Sugar water and mayonnaise sandwich |
| Share the room with bout four mo' brothers |
| But one home for 'em and wattn’t no mo' covers |
| A little bad motherfucker (ah-ha) |
| Always rude and always in trouble |
| None of my teachers ain’t like me (uh-huh) |
| But make it so bad, Pearl had seven mo' like me |
| If you growed up the way I did |
| You gotsta understand, Trick love the kids |
| (Ooooooohh!) Trick love the kids |
| Cop me a seven-tres Chevy, put dubs on that bitch (uh-huh) |
| Candy-apple green, niggaz lovin this shit (lovin this shit) |
| And when I’m in it, I’ll act a fool |
| Ya don’t like how I’m livin? |
| Bitch fuck you (uh-huh) |
| That’s right I’m a rude-ass nigga |
| Quick to do you, cut a fool-ass nigga |
| Weighin' in at bout a buck six-five |
| And a nigga can fuck, plus the boy gets live (that's right) |
| You know legs, wings, and short thighs (short thighs) |
| Eat 'em up, beat 'em up, then switch sides |
| Hot whore work her Sean John velour to the floor |
| He oughta enjoy, with the loaded four-four |
| Be sure and acquire more 'fore ya fuck with mine |
| Disrespect; |
| I’ll disconnect ya line |
| With a sick SWAT, when shit’s hot, ya get shot |
| The fire, the fury, ya fuck with it not |
| Ya stoppin the grace, get out my space and my — face |
| Fore me and my ace-a lay down the whole place |
| Recognize, this is the verbalize |
| Surprise, fuckin with me wrong way to wise nigga |
| Hoes, clothes, shows, Vogues, golds |
| Big ol' bankrolls, that’s all a nigga know |
| Throw yo' elbows, I’m sicker than I suppose |
| Hoes unchose, cuz my jewelry froze |
| You know how it goes, these young niggaz don’t want it like this |
| Go off and get yo' gat, to silence the chit-chat, blast! |
| So pass, outlast, bout cash |
| Mo' sicky, talk tricky to the trick like trash |
| Lo realer, a go-rilla, flow for mo' scrilla |
| Come clean, lookin mean, but you ain’t no killa! |
| (Oooooooooh!) (Trick love the kids!) |
| Look at what we got; |
| the rims and all the 'dro |
| The 'dro and all the smoke, my throat, it makes me choke |
| Like a serial killer was squeezin on my throat box |
| In the cluthces of danger but not a stranger on the block |
| Is it the cheeferry reefer beat blowin my chest up? |
| Beat right from the club try my best not to mess up |
| A professor of this lyrical thang, I’ll take the purist strain |
| of this slang and inject it into your veins |
| Did your heart stop man? |
| Drop-top fame |
| Aviator shades with a rear front face |
| Movin through the dirty at a slow pimps pace |
| Kinda like the turtle and the rabbit in the race |
| To the finish line, I jump the pair of Reeboks |
| So bright, so fresh, snow white but no socks |
| Then I slip on some of that O with the wings |
| I’m bustin straight out the path like a three piece |
| of va-lac-tic, before you slack it |
| You gotta prepare it and mack it, when your jack it over tragic |
| not intended for any illegal purposes' |
| it’s like anthrax and small pox in surplus to murder us |
| (Ya gotsta understand Trick love the kids!) |
| (Trick love the kids!) |