| Oh no, there go them Texas boys banging in a fo’do' |
| Top fell out the drop, crawling on 84's |
| Think of taking my slab, baby I don’t think so My heat under my seat, and I don’t love you hoes |
| Living it like a G, but still I gotta lay low |
| Five percent or ten, but still my screens gon glow |
| These haters be in my mix, and these boppers be on my dick |
| Everytime I come round the corner |
| I’m from the land of opportunity, in God we trust |
| But haters in my mix, got me paranoid and disgust |
| I’m scoping out my side mirrors, when my car’s in park |
| It’s after dark, and my slab is fresh meat to these sharks |
| Boys thinking I been drinking, so I’m off my note |
| But I got seventeen surprises, tucked inside of my coat |
| See me strut through the parking lot, on 22's plus |
| It’s a must I make all haters, eat my dust |
| Them jump-out boys, waiting trying to catch me slipping |
| I ain’t tripping, grain ain’t the only thing that I’m gripping |
| Boys jacking with these tow trucks, thinking they slick |
| But take a trip to South Lee, and end up in a ditch |
| They got my purple people eater once, the next day |
| I bought a Range Rover cash, and a new set of fronts |
| I’ve been on feet for months, I’m taking haters to lunch |
| Paul Wall and Trae, hit em with that one-two punch |
| When I flip in my slab |
| I’m fin to beat they back off, like I was legs |
| Sitting low and tinted on chrome, gangstafied till I’m finished |
| I’m bout to diminish these haters, when my trunk start waving |
| Blue over gray, side of my drop with six T.V.'s I’m displaying |
| They hate that I’m shining, with the fifth wheel falling flying down the block |
| But if one of these haters, wanna jack me Slugs gon be flying, out the glock |
| I click for no reason, this season my slab is staining they brain |
| And I be known for getting reckless in Texas, gripping on grain |
| Forever be pimping, 84 tipping all through the South |
| Grilling boppers all through my tint, with diamonds all in my mouth |
| They all in my mouth, looking stupid when I burn right past em Cause some of these broads be living shife, and setting up for the jacking |
| But not today, cause Trae gon be flipping on top of his game |
| We guerillas I’m mobbing with, ain’t no stopping me mayn |
| When I’m in my fo’do’solo, the slab is bound to get tossed |
| And if you trying to be competition, then you bound to be getting lost |
| Now look how your life stares, in a barrel and I swear |
| I wouldn’t let a platinum ghost, jack me in a nightmare |
| I got that paranoia for you, trigga finger gon destroy you |
| And if that trigga finger don’t get you, get the number to my lawyer |
| I hold court with Ben Franklin, I talk with my bread |
| Soon as I let him out that briefcase, it’s off with your head |
| Can’t negotiate with the heater either, talk to the lead |
| And talk to your head, when it’s finished you’ll walk with the dead |
| I call the police they’ll probably get him, by the end of the week |
| I call the streets, they gon get him before the end of this treat |
| With the end of the heat, to set flame to the end of his suite |
| The end of his feet, will be poking out the end of a sheet |
| Hold up I’m just saying though, has this happened befo’naw |
| But no law, gon keep these hollows from entering your jaw |
| If it’s my money or my family, or my woman or my car |
| I’m headed to that blood bank, I’m bout to make a withdrawl |
| When I’m coming round that corner |
| All you haters, better get up out of my range |
| Run up on me, if you wanna |
| I ain’t gon play no games, at all when I’m taking my aim |
| Cause you’re gonna be a goner |
| You thinking of taking mine, late night when the 84's swang |
| I know you niggaz in the game, gotta feel the same |
| Make a jacker feel the pain, and he can charge it to the game |
| When I’m coming round that corner |
| Hmmmm-mmmm-mmmm-mmm-hm-hm-hm |
| Run up on me, if you wanna |
| Hmmmm-mmmm-mmmm-mmm-hm-hm-hm |
| Cause you’re gonna be a goner |
| Hmmmm-mmmm-mmmm-mmm-hm-hm-hm |
| I know you niggaz in the game, gotta feel the same |
| Make a jacker feel the pain, and he can charge it to the game |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Oh No , by - Paul Wall. Song from the album Chick Magnet, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп