Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Pour Wax , by - Jim Jones. Release date: 06.11.2006
Song language: English
Pour Wax |
| Yeah, you pour wax on the table, uh huh, and you set it on fire |
| Uh, yeah, you know |
| This that dope boy shit, nigga |
| Ya smell me, fuck wit ya |
| Your reign on the top, short like leprechauns |
| I came through in drops, Porches and heavy charms |
| And I came from the block, was flawless with ex-cons |
| And we aimin' them glocks, of course, ready to bomb |
| Now I done seen a custy cop four pies of the same gear |
| I also seen a nigga cop four rides in the same year |
| The concrete jungle, no trees to swing from |
| This weed and gettin' drunk and heaters gettin' dumped |
| Or hit the highway, nigga, key’s up in the trunk |
| Back up in the city with some skeezers in the trunk |
| I ain’t a player but I do my dirt, dawg |
| Drop top 'Cedes better move when it murk off |
| I got it swayin' to the left lane |
| Plus a nigga coughin' 'cause the haze give me chest pain |
| Yes, mothafucka, the boys are back with my vest |
| And I’m tucked up with my boys in back, fucka |
| You don’t want it with them niggas |
| While you haters steady bitchin', my niggas gettin' richer |
| Bet you’re mad 'cause we ballin', bet you’re mad 'cause we scorin' |
| If he get outta line, put his punk ass in the coffin |
| Nigga, we the regime, Byrdgang, we the truth |
| Even four in sedan, I’m swervin' in the coupe |
| Oak wood in interior, suede on the roof |
| Now shoot back, now shoot back |
| Ah man, Hell Rell, he on the same bullshit again |
| Same black hoodie, ya same fo' fifth again |
| Bitches stop likin' me but now they on my dick again |
| See me in that Aston with my chain glistenin' |
| Yeah, I’m bustin' off the chrome, yeah, I’m 'bout to off your dome |
| Kill a mother and a father, kids go to foster homes |
| Yeah, I like to floss the chrome, nigga, leave the boss alone |
| See my neck and my wrist, I’m rockin' with a cost for homes |
| Homie, they don’t call me Ruger for nothin' |
| Back out on these bitch niggas, get that Ruger to dumpin' |
| So don’t run up on me, nigga, you know I stay with it |
| G’d up from my beef and brocks, to the Oakland A’s, fitted |
| That’s the bottom to the top, you seen the bottom of the pot |
| I got it white, I got it tan, it’s either you coppin' or you not |
| Nigga, jets is pullin' off and you stuck on the curb |
| D I P, B G, fuck what you heard |
| You don’t want it with them niggas |
| While you haters steady bitchin', my niggas gettin' richer |
| Bet you’re mad 'cause we ballin', bet you’re mad 'cause we scorin' |
| If he get outta line, put his punk ass in the coffin |
| Nigga, we the regime, Byrdgang, we the truth |
| Even four in sedan, I’m swervin' in the coupe |
| Oak wood in interior, suede on the roof |
| Now shoot back, now shoot back |
| We all strapped in the ride, I ain’t talkin' like the elderly |
| Yak when we drive, like we rollin' fuckin' felony |
| Trap to survive, get the buck, sellin' keys, it’s hard to get by |
| That’s why we puff hella weed |
| But if this high don’t come down |
| I feel the walls spinnin' like the sky gon' come down |
| I need air, top of the ride, gon' come down |
| And I swear I stay fly when I jump out |
| Jewled up in ice, that bent that dude like |
| Spyder 430 with the bluish lights |
| Got the coupe, bright, but we still shoot dice |
| For my niggas on the Eastside, this is true life |
| You don’t want it with them niggas |
| While you haters steady bitchin', my niggas gettin' richer |
| Bet you’re mad 'cause we ballin', bet you’re mad 'cause we scorin' |
| If he get outta line, put his punk ass in the coffin |
| Nigga, we the regime, Byrdgang, we the truth |
| Even four in sedan, I’m swervin' in the coupe |
| Oak wood in interior, suede on the roof |
| Now shoot back, now shoot back |
| © SALLY RUTH ESTHER PUBLISHING; |
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