Lyrics Grippin Grain - Slim Thug, ESG

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