Lyrics City Of Dank - Baby Beesh, Ike, Southpark Mexican

City Of Dank

It’s your boy, Baby Beesherelli mane
La Velvet clika
Representin' that yay area dogg
Down South mane, Houston, Texas mane, with my smokin' cousin
Mister S-P baby
S-P-M baby boy, South Park Mexican
With my nephew, young Happy P
Man on the track, one love
One time for that Ikie
Ikeman my boy, representin' that 7−1-3 clique mane
Houston, Texas mane
We fixin' to show you how we get down mane, check it out
Well I come from the city of dank
Where niggas shoot, hop, snort and smoke crank
Where anything’s possible but nothin’s for sure
High off Khadafi mixed with blow
Well I come from, the city of drank
Where niggas chop tar, ride and drip paint
Grip the grain, switch the lane, swangin' on them thangs
Got the trunk with the bang 'cause the South on this thang
Some of you G’s can’t help it
We love our money green like the Boston Celtics
They felt it 'cause every saucy Chicano’s down with Latino Velvet
Don’t get it twisted, we got some more in case you missed it
Straight from the Buh-ay, where them niggas keep it playeristic
Now every hour, a coward is devoured
Some perkin', off the powder, some slangin' go mental flowers
Smokin' cavys in the Navi, or the four door fleetwood caddy
Geekin', while we tweekin' or smellin' the puporalli
Valley jokers what we ran with
And them haters just can’t stand it
They frantic cuz us hispanics
Gigantic like the Titanic nigga
Seven seas, I’m tryin' to cop seven keys
All folks with the 2−0-9's got whole ones for eleven G’s
So I ain’t passin' Baby Beesh all about that scrilla scratchin'
Hooked up with the Ikeman now we robbin' in Guerilla fashion
Eighteen with a bullet, we bumpin' totally insane
I’d like to praise the Mac God for showin' me the game
Well I come from the city of dank
Where niggas shoot, hop, snort and smoke crank
Where anything’s possible but nothin’s for sure
High off Khadafi mixed with blow
Well I come from, the city of drank
Where niggas chop tar, ride and drip paint
Grip the grain, switch the lane, swangin' on them thangs
Got the trunk with the bang 'cause the South on this thang
Off the top, all us realas double R we goin' hard
Down South we hit the bar, smokin' 'dro up in the guards
Foreign car we send low, bout my fetty and the dough
For those that don’t know it’s three and a quarter for the bow
Lime green lil' apartment, kind that make you wanna rhyme
But oh, dollar shine, it takes time to make 'em blind
I’m on the grind to go and get
I got my gangsta ready to spit
I-K-E about my digits
Feds want me cuz I did it
I done flipped it into green, with my cousin' lil' beam
We be hoggin' up the scene with our mugs on mean
7−1-3, we coldest, from the jump they can’t hold us
Got the bricks, got the boulders, let the World know it’s over
I-K-E and S-P-M, and that Mexican Baby Beesh
Down to make major cash from the bay to seven one tre
That’s how we do it like some G’s
Makin' money from these ki’s
Every block we touch bleeds
About to put this game on freeze
Well I come from the city of dank
Where niggas shoot, hop, snort and smoke crank
Where anything’s possible but nothin’s for sure
High off Khadafi mixed with blow
Well I come from, the city of drank
Where niggas chop tar, ride and drip paint
Grip the grain, switch the lane, swangin' on them thangs
Got the trunk with the bang 'cause the South on this thang
Cognac sipper, born to crack flipper
Jugglin' hoes like my boy Jack Tripper
Glass slippers, on my smoke ray Lac
I was broke way back, walkin' down a train track
Mary Jane sacks gave my ass a brain lapse
Insane raps ridin' with strange cats
Plain gats, nothin' special but do the job
Rollin' 'round tryin' to find someone new to rob
A lot of what you smoke, a lot of what you snort
Playin' crack bars seemed to be my favorite sport
My only dance floor was the hot corner store
Beat 'em down, hol' 'em up, that boy don’t want 'em no more
Chest cracker, neck snapper, don’t make the Mex act a
Muthafuckin' fool on the best actor
Lead blaster, I hope it hits you where it has to
It’s the S-P-M sippin' syrup mixed with Shasta
Well I come from the city of dank
Where niggas shoot, hop, snort and smoke crank
Where anything’s possible but nothin’s for sure
High off Khadafi mixed with blow
Well I come from, the city of drank
Where niggas chop tar, ride and drip paint
Grip the grain, switch the lane, swangin' on them thangs
Got the trunk with the bang 'cause the South on this thang