Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Smoke Break, artist - Slim Thug. Date of issue: 05.11.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Smoke Break |
| Huh hold up, 2000 and 2 |
| You already know how we do |
| You know I’m saying, pull up in front of the club |
| Banging looking good, hopping out and swanging on blue |
| Boss Hogg Outlaws, doing what they wanna do |
| Security talking bout, turn the music down |
| Man we walk up to the club, do what we wanna (huh) |
| Smelling like dro you already know |
| Slim Thug tell 'em how we do it |
| We riding big body Benz, Gucci shade lens |
| Me and all my friends, got the platinum diamond grins |
| Every thing I’m in spin, on twenty inch Lorenz |
| Laid back on buck skin, with my braids in the wind |
| Not a twin, but me and Ray Face got twin Coupes |
| Me and my super thoed group, drop platinum hits like Snoop |
| I can’t hoop, but people still call me a balla |
| And I can’t shoot, but people still call me a shot caller |
| Standing taller than the rest, staying dressed to impress |
| Twenty karats on my chest, Gator boot, suits and vests |
| Don’t mess with the best, cause we put boys to rest |
| Respect that Houston Tex, cause we break and stack checks |
| Dirty Third sip bar, endo in cigar |
| Menage tois in the spa, like a porno star |
| Me and E up to par, wherever we are |
| Flipping bar foreign cars, double R Jaguars |
| You don’t wanna bang with us |
| Cause you know we dangerous |
| If you real, you can swing with us |
| Cause we are from that Dirty South |
| When we hit the club, you know we thugged out |
| Twenty-fo' seven, them boys they iced out |
| First thing they say, who let them Hoggs out |
| They must be from the Dirty South |
| Carmen San, and you got’s to like me |
| Cause I’m pulling up fly, looking nice and icey |
| If a playa wanna hit, tell me what the price be |
| Six digits no less, baby don’t strive me |
| Hopping me and my crew, roll up big body Benz |
| Chromed out twenties, big bubbled eyed blue lens |
| All my playas set trends, and spend big dividends |
| Southside showing up, blowing up bubbling |
| Club parking is packed, me and my click walking in |
| Diamonds shining, blinding and sparkling |
| Best believe we squash that chatter, they stopping and talking in |
| When the club let out, this Big Billy I’m hopping in |
| Big stack of paying dues, sitting fat on 22's |
| 9−5 Air Macks, my platinum FUBU |
| Squatting in my drop, my Cardier watch |
| The mo' Lac I got, the harder they bop |
| Stash spot for Glock, two tone Navigator hot |
| Boss Hogg calling shots, trying to block spray the block |
| Make 'em stop, three karat rock the ice thick |
| Baller blockers caught a flicks, I’ma pull up my convicts |
| This is it, everything I spit a hit |
| Got swanging and banging, popping trunks reclining kits |
| In the mix, in a 6 with a body full of gliss |
| Two punching keys chicks, Sade and G the shit |
| Twenties turn and twist, with each lane I switch |
| Mary Jane in my piss, wood grain in my fist |
| Clarion screens lit, banging at a high fix |
| Banging R. Kelly screwed, I Wish, I Wish |