Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Grippin Grain , by - Slim Thug. Release date: 15.06.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: E1
Song language: English
Grippin Grain |
| Say Slim, what’s the deal baby |
| (making this money man) uh-huh, true that true that |
| Check this out, it’s going down over here |
| On the South, so I’m bout to come over |
| There on the North and scoop you up |
| We gotta put it down, boys ain’t feel us in 9−9 |
| With that Braids N' Fades, it’s Y2K baby |
| Know I’m tal’n bout, candy coated still putting it down |
| Still swanging and banging ha, boys gon feel us man |
| Boys gon feel us, wha-wha-wha-wha-wha-what |
| My love, have you ever seen a |
| Candy coated Exursion, swang and bang |
| Still gripping grain |
| (Northside man huh, Southside what) |
| See I’m a wide body roller, wood grain remote controller |
| Blades on Escalades, electric shocks on Range Rovers |
| Man the game over, when me and Slim pull up |
| You see us flossing on chrome, with the styrofoam cup |
| I got a eight and a liter, swanging on the feeter |
| In the Bentley watching BET, I’m tripping off of Cita |
| Cristal margaritas, we some block bleeders |
| My balling tire size, can’t ride in two-seaters |
| Man I need Excursion, or my Navigator |
| My big body Denali, sqauatting like a Florida Gator |
| Tell them playa haters, E.S.G. |
| I don’t bar |
| 50 cash and dash, like my name was Peter Warren |
| I parallel parked it, ghetto starts cost to Mars |
| Man my rims cost more, than some boys cars |
| Hit the Boulevard, with the nine on my lap-lap |
| Southside on the map-map, Screw tape tap-tap |
| Now when I come down, I be throwing up the North shwoing off |
| Six gallons of gloss, on my 7−9 Boss |
| I floss the candy cream gleam, when I pull on the scene |
| My four 18's and screens, got my shit sitting mean |
| My drop top is a supreme, king of a young team’s dream |
| Like a diamond it bling-bling, when it’s hit with sun beams |
| Shoot more spiders in my ring, when I glide up the block |
| I got a trunk full of knock, about to bust air shocks |
| I’m shutting down the parking lot, when you see me ride |
| See me sitting high with pride, sliding on the buck hide |
| Looking pretty, on a tour all across my city |
| Sipping drank by the pint, about to bust my kidney |
| From the North to the South, we gon represent |
| I’m getting bent behind tint, froze by the air vent |
| I spent a lot of cash to shine, but it came in handy |
| Cause like a child, Slim Thug is so in love with candy huh |
| Now when I come down, I be throwing up the South |
| Ice in our mouth, Wreckshop and Swishahouse |
| We got the braids and fades, and ride 4's and blades |
| Looking laid in the 'Sacci, or the Gucci shades |
| Candy red smash, syrup make you lean fast |
| 19 with screens, playing Sega Dreamcast |
| That candy blue or that green, gon keep our slab looking clean |
| Watching a movie on my screen, when I pull on the scene |
| In the new Coupe, chunk the deuce out the hoo-doo |
| Taper fade playa made, Iceberg or FUBU |
| And I splurge the Iceberg, and drink gallons of syrup |
| With a Y-2G bird, valeted on the curb |
| See them boppers still bopping, them choppers still chopping |
| Them tops still dropping, the trunk still popping |
| Slim Thug and E.S.G., for the Y2K |
| Man I still got my braids |
| Man I still got my fade, huh |
| Northside man huh, Southside what — 2x |