| This Young Chris from the West, we pulling out baby
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| We in a platinum line ha, beating your trunk off
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| Go on turn your knock up, and if you got plex
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| Nigga catch a square, anytime any place anywhere bitch
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| We dropping the tops
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| Tipping on glass, crawling up the block
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| We hogging the lanes, yeah
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| 24's spinning, and they ain’t gon stop
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| I’m riding my slab
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| Waving my trunk, while I’m gripping grain
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| I’m doing my thang, yeah
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| Slow Loud And Bangin', niggas know what I claim
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| When I pull out drop the top, won’t park cause I roam the lot
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| Hit BJ tell him meet me at the spot, just in case a jacker want what I got
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| I’m in a 6−9 Cheve old school, platinum with the pop do’s fool
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| Chrome grill on the nose fool, with 4−4's wrapped up and vogues too
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| I’ll hit the Av' banging S.L.A.B., in a slab crawling like a crab
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| Niggas don’t wanna give me dab, cause my 12's hit hard like a jab
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| Niggas know it when I show it, pop the trunk and neons glow it
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| Lil' B from H still holding, with the belts fifth wheel and bumper folded
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| See me in my wide ride, everything to the left side
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| HGC on my plates right, inside got do’s suicide
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| Engine power gliding on monoxide, flo' master
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| Run up on the 7-deuce Boss gon blast ya, better have a prayer with a hell of a
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| pastor
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| Pull up and pop the trunk like Fat Pat, roll one deep with a fat black gat
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| Platinum with DJ Screw blue in the back, eight switches with the top on crack
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| Swanging the lane on the swangas I swang, banging the trunk in the slab with
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| the grain
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| Flipping through hoods you can’t flip through again, smashing my gas then I’m
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| off in the wind
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| Off in the wind they like the Lincoln I ride the Cheve, banging slow loud and
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| tipping heavy
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| I didn’t pull it out till the car was ready, Southside still holding steady
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| Cat fish on 4's in the Buick, jamming Slow Loud And Bangin' music
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| Black swangas on a black Eldorado, enough to make niggas lose it
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| I’m gripping grain up in a Lac, 20 inches six 12's in the back
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| My name stitched all on the seats, like 8 Ball we sitting fat
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| Ain’t no T.V.'s got mirrors falling, for the 2K5 you gon see me balling
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| When I hit West state you gon see me hauling, in the platinum Fleetwood slab
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| that I’m crawling
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| Pulling up dubs raised, from the way I dress you know I stay paid
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| Game so thoed I’m pimping mayn, from the way I spit you know I stay laid
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| Half of karats all around my neck, slow and loud when I bang my set
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| Haters chill 'fore your ass get wrecked, six digits when I cash my check
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| Right now shit be smooth sailing, fo' 24's everytime I’m bailing
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| Gotta watch what these hating ass niggas telling, every single one of us known
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| felons
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| Asshole bitch and that’s what I’m repping, fo' do' Cheve with a loaded weapon
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| White tee’s and kicks everytime I’m stepping, I’m a G and a pimp and a thugging
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| veteran
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| Why these hoes be steady bopping, why my rims ain’t never stopping
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| Why my slab be oh so wide, with a reclinable fifth that’s known for dropping
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| Bleek on black and I bet he chopping, Boss on juice then I bet he hopping
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| Ro on the passenger side of my truck, if a jacker running up then I bet he
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| popping
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| Pulling up at the light trunk on lock, got the 12 gauge ready with the 4−5
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| cocked
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| Hogging the lane, black on black with six twelves
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| A six pack nigga did that, swanging hard in a wide frame
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| Steady banging Slow Loud And Bang, pop the trunk let the fifth wheel hang
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| Hoes steady wanna know my name it’s K, all I like to do ball and parlay
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| On the paper chase with the nigga Trae, South Klique everyday all day
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| With the Warren G, Lil' B, Jay’Ton and J2
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| Chunking the deuce up out the roof, in a seven deuce on 22's |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Droppin' tha Tops (S.L.A.B.ed) , by - Trae Tha Truth. Song from the album Plex, Vol. 4.5 (S.L.A.B.ed), in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп