| I’m ballin baby
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| Gridiron on the beat
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| Big house, big car
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| Hoes everywhere, ice everywhere, money everywhere
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| I’m ballin man, I ain’t braggin
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| I’m just tellin you what it is like, I’m ballin
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| Knahmtalkinbout? |
| Whattup
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| I see you on the beat mo' betta
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| I’m comin down, candy paint, sprayed by that Eddie
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| 12 coats of that clear lookin like some grape jelly
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| My paint’s drippin wet, my slab is superb
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| Park the truck and catchin boppers down here in this dirty third
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| I hold it down for the block bleeders workin overtime
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| Not concerned at all with petty shit, I’m occupied on the grind
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| I keep my mind on breakin bread, makin chess moevs, thinkin ahead
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| I soaked up game at a early age, I’m built for this, I’mma seasoned vet
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| Swangers symbolize respect, cain’t just anybody tip on Vogues
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| They’ll catch you slippin in the turnin lane, and leave ya ass naked walkin home
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| Candy on chrome is how I drive, with screens fallin in the back of the ride
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| My music screwed and my drank is purple, go and take a sip I’d be obliged
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| I’m comin straight from the land of the fry, the city of syrup and the home of
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| Screw
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| I’m on the block with my potnah Gooch, stashin cash in my Reebok shoe
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| What that do I can’t complain, the candy gloss drippin off the frame
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| Ball in the mix I’m off the chain, it’s goin down H-Town
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| I’m big ballin baby, yeahhh, and I’m spendin cheese
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| I’m on my grind all day makin money with ease
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| I’m grippin on that woodgrain, I’m sippin on that good drank
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| I’m showin love to every side and every neighborhood mayne
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| I got them neon lights glowin, representin my block
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| I’m on that 59 South, ridin with my trunk popped
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| From that Homestead to that Spice Lane, I’m on Scott, in the turning lane
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| I’m headed straight to that Timmy Chan’s, order up and let’s get some wangs
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| New Hawk on that chan-nel, I’m on that dolly right
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| On the way to my gran-ty house, I’m navigated by bubble lights
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| I’m tatted by that Junior, I’m cut up by White Mike
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| Busted up by that Mr. Davis, sluggin me is a beautiful night
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| That chrome is quite atrocious, complimented by candy gloss
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| I’m tiptoein on fo' swangers, eighty-fo's like Randy Moss
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| Open mouth and show platinum grill, it’s like a disco ball
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| I got expensive tastes, courtesy of expensive jaws
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| They see me comin grill and woman, truck bumpin
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| Knockin pictures off the wall is nuttin cause I’m a baller
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| When the speakers start bumpin and that fifth relax
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| I make the trunk dance around like it’s doin jumpin jacks
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| I’m ridin on them Spyders, them eighty-fo's tiptoein
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| And that trunk is exalted with them neon lights glowin
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| The candy paint’s immaculate, drippin wet up off the fender
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| Beat the block up like a boxer, chop the street up like a blender
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| I got the flat screens fallin down from the ceiling
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| And the platinum mouthpiece with diamonds in the filling
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| I’m big ballin, grippin grain, breakin bread, I’m stackin change
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| Gettin money I’m havin thangs with two commas, I can’t complain
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| Drippin candy paint, off the frame, switchin lanes
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| In the turning lane leavin stains, cause I’m a baller |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Big Ballin' , by - Paul Wall. Song from the album The People's Champ, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп