Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Libella Swing, artist - Parov Stelar. Date of issue: 03.10.2013
Song language: English
Libella Swing |
| It’s a Midwest thang, y’all — and they ain’t got a clue |
| (They ain’t got a clue) why my Cutlass blue |
| and I got them thangs on that muh’fucker too |
| It’s a Midwest swang, y’all — and they ain’t gotta trip |
| (They ain’t gotta trip) while we swing and dip |
| Cause we do big thangs on the muh’fuckin hip |
| It’s a Midwest thang (chorus) |
| Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay What you think we live on a farm? |
| Nigga be for real |
| We got Benz’s Rovers’and Jag’s, Hummer’s and Deville’s |
| Got a green S Class, ain’t broke the door seal |
| Shit ain’t been the same since I signed Fo’Reel |
| This shit got ill, when I hit 4 mill |
| Five and countin', dirty six at will |
| Did seven on the slide, 8 worldwide |
| I’ll be on my third Bentley by the time I’m at 9 |
| I hear 'em cryin, You gon’sell out ya damn right |
| I done sold out before and re-comped the same night |
| Straight hopped the next flight, too *Icey* for sunlight |
| Dunkin without Sprite, yea you heard me dirty |
| I’m from the Show-Me State, show me seven I’ll show you eight |
| Karats in one bling, heavily starched jeans |
| Representin St. Louis everytime I breathe |
| In the city I touch down and I bob and weave, ay I sport my beeper on my boots, that’s why I be a buzz when I kick |
| Maybe it’s on my lips, it’s chaos when I spit |
| Quarter man, quarter schoolboy, half Lunatic |
| Quarter rubber, quarter dick, other half in yo’shit |
| Keep a quarter of some sheeeiit, I’m the Pooky of the backyard |
| All colors and all types like a junkyard |
| Hot young boy with hot young ways |
| Cause I connect three blunts and be high for three days |
| You can tell by the way I walk I ain’t from 'round hurr (here) |
| Probably couldn’t tell cuz I ain’t walkin nowhurr (nowhere) |
| I got a old-school Cutlass, with a hole in the urr (air) |
| TV’s urrwhurr (everywhere) wood grain to sturr (stare) |
| I don’t curr (care), hell naw I ain’t cuttin my hurr (hair) |
| To the half in them Airforce 1's, give me two purr (pair) ugh |
| I’m from the Lou’and what I do is a Lou’thang |
| One rapper, two rings and three chains |
| Nothing but some ole country boys that ride V-12 horses |
| Saddle up and put spurs on my Airforce’s |
| Back porches made for hide and go seek |
| We got space out hurr, we can ride and chief |
| Ain’t gotta worry 'bout nobody approachin’us |
| By the time they catchin’up, we smoked it up And my eyes be red, my lips a lil’dark |
| The Lou is more than the Rams, Cards and lil’Arch |
| My dirty’s love to spark, and love to sparkle |
| Love homies *Vokal* coats with matchin’car do’s (doors) |
| We racin down Skinker, see how fast our car go Granny be like Ay-yi-yi like Ricky Ricardo |
| I know you wanna know why we do what we do You cats ain’t got a clue why the Cutlass blue |
| Brand new twenty-two's on new UP’s |
| With one, two, three, four, five TV’s |
| I’m sittin’on the front porch, writin a hood rhyme |
| Waitin on my connect to deliver that good line |
| Wish I would find, one seed in my weed |
| Sticks and shit, if I do somebody bleed |
| Pull right here, eight pounds of Chinamen |
| Two stay hittin some blunts and Heineken |
| Hidin in the back with the po’po' |
| kicked in my do’do', man they some ho’hooo’s |
| They put the gun to my earr, you know the Lord don’t fear |
| Nann nigga, nann hoe, let’s keep that bullshit clearr |
| They had me face down in the skreet |
| Errbody watchin, thinkin I’ma pull the heat |
| And leave the D-tects with a leak in the skreet |
| And that — pussy ass nigga that set me up my peeps |
| Gon’give it to this nigga like NYPD |
| Beat the K, fuck coke, now I’m back on my granny porch hustlin |