| Yeah
|
| From Cali to New Orleans
|
| And back
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| Come through, leave two, run what ya got
|
| I’m a low rider mostly, I cruise, I hop
|
| But I got a couple muscle cars tucked at the spot
|
| Talkin' about Camaros, El Caminos, Monte Carlos
|
| Homie, I got a few of those
|
| Pie track, tire scratch, you smell the smoke
|
| Smell like love to me though
|
| Down south flow, I get love on the left coast
|
| Dippin' with my loved ones in a rag boat
|
| Smoked out, three wheels through the Home Depot
|
| Then in flew right back to the N. O
|
| In Canal Street with my people
|
| They was out doin' donuts, like the shit was all legal
|
| Burnin' rubber, going crazy at the second line
|
| Remind me of that one time, I was in the Bay with a homie of mine
|
| Camaros and Trans Ams dancin' in the sunshine
|
| Sideshow, they was like swung what you brung
|
| If your engine ain’t right don’t come
|
| The homie laid 5 grand on the trunk
|
| Like which one of you boys wanna run
|
| The cars then lined up, they raced he won
|
| Got back to the stunts like what
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| Come through, leave two, run what ya got
|
| Smoke out your block, hang out the T-tops
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| Come through, leave two, run what ya got
|
| Smoke out your block, hang out the T-tops
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| From the scrimmage (?) collard greens spinach
|
| Higher than the Big Dipper my nigga, skies the limit
|
| Chameleon paint on my transportation I’m switching lanes
|
| When the sun hit my automobile the colors change
|
| Tremendous slack for a bitch
|
| Detachable steering wheel with the kill switch
|
| Born to ball, VS’s
|
| Furniture in my mouth like Paul Wall from Texas
|
| After my multiplications I’m in the streets like bullet cases
|
| But right now I’m off an edible, and my heart racing
|
| Credible, reputable, I show love to my thugs
|
| Tap in my people my ghetto pass ain’t revoked
|
| This my corner sign, a Glad bag and a scale
|
| Penitentiary chances, 4 and a half by 12 foot cell
|
| Got a (?) up in storage a Falcon and a Giselle
|
| Hanging up out of the window curving donuts in Camaro
|
| Nigas’ll hop in they vintage, yellow white black and brown
|
| In the Bay these nigas’ll shut the Golden Gate Bridge down
|
| Man these niggas goin' crazy especially in the town
|
| To the side show make the car spin like a merry go round
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| Come through, leave two, run what ya got
|
| Smoke out your block, hang out the T-tops
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| Come through, leave two, run what ya got
|
| Smoke out your block, hang out the T-tops
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| Tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| Dropped two hunnid on a brand new drop
|
| I just threw my six four back in the shop
|
| Started all over, now my shit gon' hop yea
|
| Dolla need the IROC with the t-tops
|
| Dolla need VVS stones in his watch
|
| Dolla need a real one, but not a little girl
|
| Asked her what her favorite position, cow girl
|
| Let her ride it, ride, ride, ride it
|
| Baby from the Bay, she be out here hot sided
|
| Candy paint on it, got it lookin' like a 'Rari
|
| Imma drop that ass on that bitch when I park it
|
| Imma pull a hunnid piece on the next harvest
|
| Diamonds on my Taylor Gang chain, they gon' sparkle
|
| Diamonds on my 40 Day Date, they retarded
|
| Shorty say Dolla $ign you my favorite artist
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| Come through, leave two, run what ya got
|
| Smoke out your block, hang out the T-tops
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot
|
| Come through, leave two, run what ya got
|
| Smoke out your block, hang out the T-tops
|
| The tires won’t slide if the motor ain’t hot |