Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Lone Star, artist - Bun B. Date of issue: 25.07.2012
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Lone Star |
| Down South, sittin' low |
| Subs, subs, in my trunk |
| Midwest, pimpin' hoes, twenty-six's on the truck |
| Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho |
| Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho |
| Parking lot pimpin' with the candy painted doors topped |
| Now I’m still flippin' in the 'Caddy sittin' low |
| I told her: Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho |
| Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho |
| Nigga, I was down South (down South) |
| Sittin' up in the House of Blues, chilling |
| I catch these hoes, I don’t catch feelings |
| Yep, real nigga in the building |
| Midwest game so cold, ya’ll should have knew that |
| Born and raised in the mitten |
| Thick motherfucker, I knew I had to get it |
| She had three kids, I paid for the sitter |
| Her girl came with her; |
| part-time hater, full-time stripper |
| She had an ex-man, and the ho still bitter |
| Thought I was gonna kiss ass for the ass, how the fuck you figure? |
| No, wrong; |
| I ain’t gotta do all that |
| My nigga just came with the liquor |
| Shots of Ciroc get your girls on the floor |
| Now she got her ass on the floor right with her |
| Everybody drinkin', everybody faded |
| She ask is it good for the night, you the greatest |
| This how it supposed to go down now, ain’t it? |
| Square-ass niggas got the game all tainted |
| Spoiling hoes that don’t want a thing |
| Wife the hoes that don’t want your ring |
| She run the game, she could coach the team |
| That’s why I handle mine how it’s supposed to be |
| Please don’t confuse me with these fucking coos (fucking coos) |
| Sippin'-ass lames like it’s something cool (something cool) |
| You know I’m pullin' up, in something smooth (something smooth) |
| G’d the fuck up, first day of school (ism) (first day of school) |
| Aw, shit, your bitch is so promiscuous (damn) (promiscuous) |
| She a runner, you should see the shit she did (damn) (shit she did) |
| I ain’t lay up with her, I just hit and slid (never) (hit and slid) |
| I can’t do that shit, I’m a pimp, you dig? |
| (I'm a pimp, you dig?) |
| Midwest mackin', as it manifest (manifest) |
| Cathedral-fied ism, nothing less (nothing less) |
| Big breasts feel so good all on my chest (on my chest) |
| I’m an addict for this pussy, yes I must confess |
| Down South, sittin' low |
| Subs, subs, in my trunk |
| Midwest, pimpin' hoes, twenty-six's on the truck |
| Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho |
| Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho |
| Parking lot pimpin' with the candy painted doors topped |
| Now I’m still flippin' in the 'Caddy sittin' low |
| I told her: Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho |
| Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho |
| Yeah, you know I’m a lone star, and my homie’s that Lone Star |
| Where them gangstas is known for having they own 'Dro, and they own bar |
| Baddest bitches that’s ballin' out with they own crib, and they own car |
| And when it come down to Texas, man there ain’t too many places that’s on par |
| Candy painted slab, rollin' up and down the ave |
| See them jazzy, yellow bras, with that big old ass to grab |
| We cuttin' corners, poppin' trunks, and we swangin', bustin' Sweets down |
| As we burn them Swishers up, and burn these streets down |
| Walking tall in my neighborhood, and I’m known for puttin' my feet down |
| Frontin' on a trill nigga, man guaranteed you gon' catch a beat-down |
| Your girl wanna swallow my meat down, and I’m inclined to let her |
| Trill O.G. |
| about the cheddar, and can’t no nigga do it any better |
| Hold up, man |
| Know what I’m talking 'bout? |
| The motherfuckin' confession of a motherfuckin' true bonafide, mackin' blessing |
| Know what I’m talking 'bout? |
| Rotating with my nigga Jon Connor, and we always seem to amaze and astonish |
| Know what I’m talking 'bout? |
| Motherfuckin' Ism is the motherfuckin' streets, rotating with my true playa |
| partner by the name of Bun B |
| Know what I’m talking 'bout? |
| Cathedral to the congregation |
| Know what I’m talking 'bout? |
| No more strangulation, raise your motherfuckin' pimping up and join this |
| motherfuckin' Ism nation |
| Divorce the bullshit, marry the motherfuckin' Ism |
| Church! |