Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Tru, artist - Paul Wall & Chamillionaire.
Date of issue: 28.04.2008
Song language: English
Tru |
Forget what them boys is talking bout, I’m true-I'm true |
You riding swangs you gripping grain, I do-I do |
You candy red you candy blue, you popping trunk you jamming Screw |
Don’t know about you, but I’m true-I'm true |
Forget what them boys is talking bout, I’m true-I'm true |
You riding swangs you gripping grain, I do-I do |
You candy red you candy blue, you popping trunk you jamming Screw |
Don’t know about you, but I’m true-I'm true |
Forget what these boys is talking bout, we wipe boys down |
In South Park on MLK, on Sunday we clown |
From the streets of Antoine, to the Homestead hoods |
From Mo City to Studewood, it’s all good |
I’m riding on platinum grey, with Z-Ro and Trae |
Gon let the top down, it’s a beautiful day |
Haters jealous on the sidelines, running they mouth |
'Cause I roll with T.I.P., the king of the South |
Boys know I’m Paid In Full, so they clocking my dollas |
Me, Poppy, Joe and Fox all riding Impalas |
I’m breaking bread with Mike Jones, and Slim Thug the Boss |
It’s Paul Wall, still representing Swishahouse |
I’m with my boy Big Kaila, I don’t bar no hater |
I’m on the grind for paper, I’ll holla at ya later |
Forget what they talking bout, I’m in love with my wealth |
I ain’t gotta say I’m true, cause true speak for itself baby |
Forget what them boys is talking bout, I’m true-I'm true |
You riding swangs you gripping grain, I do-I do |
You candy red you candy blue, you popping trunk you jamming Screw |
Don’t know about you, but I’m true-I'm true |
Forget what them boys is talking bout, I’m true-I'm true |
You riding swangs you gripping grain, I do-I do |
You candy red you candy blue, you popping trunk you jamming Screw |
Don’t know about you, but I’m true-I'm true |
They say I’m the greatest of all time, and I say who and they say you |
If she’s a dime tell her I’m fine, and she’ll say true-true |
Turn up the bang if you into, something color changing the rims do |
Sound like a train cause when I stop, they be like choo-choo-choo |
And I’m thugging too homie, the heater kinda like Al Bundy’s hand |
Believe me every time you see me, it’s gon be in her pants |
If I do a crime and you snitch, homie the heater will snitch too |
'Cause if the police come around, it’ll be pointing at you |
Somebody give mouth to mouth to this mic, after it melt |
'Cause the only rapper out rapping me is me, after myself |
I hope you internet thugs, that will swear that I ain’t the tightest |
Have cyber sex with Cita, until you catch a virus |
Why is he saying this, to piss boys off |
I officially claim myself, the rap King of the South |
The say I’m the greatest of all time, and I say who and they say you |
And I say naw, give that title to the late great DJ Screw, rest in peace |
Forget what them boys is talking bout, I’m true-I'm true |
You riding swangs you gripping grain, I do-I do |
You candy red you candy blue, you popping trunk you jamming Screw |
Don’t know about you, but I’m true-I'm true |
Forget what them boys is talking bout, I’m true-I'm true |
You riding swangs you gripping grain, I do-I do |
You candy red you candy blue, you popping trunk you jamming Screw |
Don’t know about you, but I’m true-I'm true |
The definition of a pimp is (me), cause I ain’t doing shit for (free) |
I got my own label now, if you ain’t heard it’s (Clover G’s) |
Now me and Will chasing the scrill, we pulling up on chrome wheels |
Nigga, your royalty check looking like my phone bill |
Quick to capping picture snapping, paparazzi follow me |
Yeah I’m platinum I’ll slap him, if he smoke up all my weed |
I love to speed on dubs and Spre’s, bitches leave the club with me |
Snitches mean mugging me, don’t make me bust my fucking heat |
We popping trunks and smoking blunts, that sticky-ickie (ooh-wee) |
Last year I did a mill, now I’m bout to do (three) |
I bring the heat on every track, it’s five G’s for every bar |
Just because I’m in a Porsche box, don’t mean I like the spa |
That don’t mean I like the car, you know I’m down to break your jaw |
Just because I burn rubber, that don’t mean I like the tar |
We ghetto stars in every state, like Pimp and Bun we keep it trill |
And if you ain’t heard, it’s Lil' Flipper and Chamill' |
Forget what them boys is talking bout, I’m true-I'm true |
You riding swangs you gripping grain, I do-I do |
You candy red you candy blue, you popping trunk you jamming Screw |
Don’t know about you, but I’m true-I'm true |