Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Wanna Be A Baller, artist - Lil' Troy
Date of issue: 31.12.1998
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Wanna Be A Baller |
Chorus: Fat Pat |
Wanna be a -- baller, shot caller |
Twenty inch blades -- on the Impala |
A caller gettin laid tonight |
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike |
I hit the HIIIGHWAY, making money the FLYYYY WAY |
But there’s got to be a BETT-ER WAYY! |
A better way, better way, YEAH-AHHHH |
(Yungstar) |
I’ma -- baller, I’ma twenty inch crawler |
Blades on Impala, diamond rottweiller |
I-10 hauler, not a leader not follower |
Break these boys off I’ma twenty inch crawler |
Bust a left, a right, I’m outta sight I’m throwed |
I’m bouncin off the road I’m in a modem with them foe dem |
Tiny tune -- hop out my big body form |
Chain with the chong, can’t forget Moet along |
I’m hot, find me lookin good, diamonds against my wood |
Man it’s understood -- got money in my hood |
I’m pushing big body can’t stop me |
For the nine-eight got to sell a million copy |
I’ma crawl slow puffin on the Optimo hit the sto' |
I’ma go real slow -- puffin indo out the do' |
I’ma lit the stash green, man I’m lookin clean |
Want remote control screens with ice bezeltynes |
(Fat Pat) |
Big ballin, smashin, makin my ends |
Smokin big killa gettin high in the Benz |
Big ballin, smashin, makin my ends |
Smokin big killa gettin high in the Benz |
In the wind smoke goes as I crawl down on Vogues |
Twenty Lorenzo, smoke all up in my nose |
Yo' eyes, get froze, as you see my low |
Candy-red, two-do', let my top down slow |
Hittin, my remote, sittin, in my shit |
Presidential V-12 with that AMG kit |
It don’t quit, as I get high |
From K.C. to H-Town, connectin SouthSide |
Now we worldwide, watch me highside |
Fat Pat blowin killa, can’t be denied |
187 thugs, oh yeah we got love |
Blowin sticky green we flow through and above |
(Lil' Will) |
Sittin' Fat Down South, rollin Benz on blocks |
Mo' scrilla I got, signin with Shortstop |
And that’s for real, so tell me how you feel |
To make a million dollars out my first record deal |
Shortstop -- puttin up your motherfuckin ear |
Really really don’t give a fuck and I ain’t drinkin on no beer |
Codeine what I sip, pistol grip when I ride |
Trunk hit fo' life baby it’s SouthSide |
We on a fuckin mission Expedition Navigator |
That’s how we be ridin, alligator suitcasin |
Puttin it in your face, and that’s for real |
Shinin harder than the grill it’s the player Lil' Will |
Down with the 2-Low, Yungstar be a thug |
So nigga, nigga what? I’m down with Mo’Thugs |
Mo’Thugs an' da Bone, you know it’s goin down |
Represent that H-Town, pop trunks surround by sound |
(Yungstar) |
I gots to get better man, it gots to move on |
Switched from Motorola to a PrimeCo phone |
Broke in two chrome, now you know no dope pigeon |
Used to count my spoke, now these hoes count my inches |
Had to get older -- man it got colder |
I done got grown and got a chip on my shoulder |
Licks in Kuwait, got links in Pakistan |
Boys don’t understand virtual reality Caravan |
Double doors marble floors naked hoes around me |
Everytime I’m comin out, niggas they wanna sign me |
Got the Lil' Will diamond grillers ?? |
Blaze in the Benz and you can’t forget Den-Den |
Boobie diamond Ruby’s, I’m watchin on a movie |
Drop the top it’s cotton, and you know I’m in a jacuzzi |
Bourban and I’m swervin, man it’s gettin hot |
My last name Lemmon, drive my tight’um off the lot, David Taylor |
(Hawk) |
I hit the highway |
Everything’s my way, I par-le |
Everyday all day, ain’t no way |
Boys can’t stop as i slide through your neighborhood |
Chop chop chop, headed straight to the top |
I only play to win -- bout to close up shop |
Showstoppin dead end, pimp the pen once again |
Peep the message I send |
Take these levels that you devils can’t comprehend |
Big bout it Benz -- as I floss through the south |
Big blue lens -- now whatcha talkin about? |
Close yo' mouth -- as I settle all scores |
Scream and shout -- my similes and metaphors |
Mansion doors -- I contstantly close |
All you hoes -- go and take off your clothes |
Lord knows -- ain’t no time to play |
Commence to fuckin and-a suckin on the H.A.W.K |