| 24's on my ride bad bitch up inside
|
| 5 percent in my tint peanut butter attire
|
| comin down with that tre' (lean) nigga no you cant try it
|
| and nigga no you cant sip if none of you niggas aint buy it
|
| i hold my h-town up out the window and throw it up to the sky
|
| my pinky ring and my watch blingin they recognizin my shine
|
| a young nigga so trill reppin that eastside
|
| im comin down and im swangin hard so you bitches know what im bout
|
| Lettin them boyz know that the south is much too real and down 4x
|
| Paul Wall:
|
| no top paper plates im glasshouse on chrome
|
| 2 real with 2 cups in a 2 seater gettin dome
|
| im far away from them clones
|
| i-290 im gone
|
| got them lil faces that old money my paper seem to be grown
|
| this bad bitch wanna bone
|
| i met her in san anton
|
| then i put her on i-10 made her walk you know what my mind is on
|
| my grind is on my shine glowin pourin up my styrofoam
|
| if you broke and lazy and talkin down please stay up off my phone
|
| and stay up off my nuts you hoes wasnt here when i was alone
|
| i smash the broad in the parkin lot she aint never been in my home
|
| i called the chick by the wrong name but thats my bad i was stoned
|
| im showin skill my cup filled im Texas trill and im way too gone
|
| Lettin them boyz know that the south is much too real and down 4x |