Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Miss My Nigga Screw, artist - Trae Tha Truth. Album song Slow, Loud and Bangin', Vol. 1, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 17.01.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Grand hustle, Trae Tha Truth
Song language: English
Miss My Nigga Screw |
Still representing trying to hold it down, you know I’m saying |
(we ain’t tripping, fuck what you heard), on the cool you know I’m saying |
A lot of niggas out there hating, getting this shit twisted nigga |
(love you boy), I’ma ride for life |
Screw-U I’m only ten, but it feel like I’m bigger |
Repped the whole Southside, you was everybody nigga |
That’s a fact, I’ma call it how I see it |
Them other niggas cheated, but you can’t be defeated |
It’s the J-Dub, showing love from the heart |
You built some’ing, that them niggas can’t take apart |
Screwed up the whole neighborhood, even Houston |
Even us kids, representing for the Screwston |
Even to this day, it ain’t a damn thang changed |
I’m still riding for the cause, I gotta make it through the pain |
Remember us, we was liver than most of these niggas on the street |
And I ain’t lying, when I found out that you flied I couldn’t take it inside |
You was blue on Impalas, and turning heads on the 'vard |
And being real on these streets, and keeping these fake niggas scarred |
Was Shorty Mac and Al-D, this your lil' nigga Trae |
Blue over grey top down, lighting up the freeway |
Catch us crawling down the Boulevard, sitting on 4's |
Hollin' at the bitches, and we getting at the hoes |
You know we thoed, blowing smoke out our nose |
We show up and po' up, that’s the way the game goes |
We doing our thang, with a fist full of grain |
Pop the trunk on these punks, let these niggas see the bang |
Switching lane to lane, jamming Screw fa sho |
Rest in peace to my nigga, while we blowing the dro what |
S.L.A.B., coming through |
We got some, brand new shit for you |
I really, miss my nigga Screw |
That’s why, we steady paying dues |
Nothing but that Southside shit, and we still missing Screw |
Chopped up and banging, niggas hollin' what it do |
This for you, represent it and come through |
Capers ripping never tripping, niggas always keep it true |
Riding blue, can’t forget the grey side pieces |
Cause you never could be defeated, though them hate niggas cheated |
Got to beat it, from sun up to sun down |
And this is how it go down, Screwed Up and slowed down |
S.L.A.B. |
soldiers mashing on, can a nigga feel a G |
R.I.P. |
to the Screw, you didn’t even know me |
But you get much respect, I keep your tape in my deck |
From Y2-Grey to Independent, stay to Who’s Next To Plex |
Either tape won’t eject, it was a Southside classic |
Boys done got wrecked, crawling through the school traffic |
Niggas be laughing, at them fake ass scrubs |
Candy painted by that Jack, cause I knew you loved blue |
Paying dues nigga, I refuse to lose |
SUV’s on 22's, staying strapped like shoes |
I’m a young nigga, putting it all on the line |
You better give me fifty feet, cause ain’t no stopping my shine |
I gotta get it nigga, I can’t settle for less |
Remember seeing DJ Screw, up in a blue SS |
Chop the scene bending corners, better believe that you missed |
Slow Loud And Bangin, got these niggas feeling this |
It started at Broadway, from the Mo to the West |
And Lord knows, me and DJ Screw use to do this |
Bounce-bounce, and body rock to this |
Down South Screwed Up Click, is the motherfucking shit |
Pee Wee ain’t tripping, just grain gripping and tipping |
He’s in my mind hold it down, going hard with this pimping |
Block bleeding, pray to the Lord got me shown |
I had it hard but it’s on, god damn why he gone |
Where would I be, without Screw |
(where would I be, without Screw) |
Where would I be, without Screw |
(wheeere, would I be) |
I’m a S.L.A.B. |
soldier, mashing on for the Screw |
If they talking down, I’m yelling out what it do |
Six cars deep, candy red or the blue |
Grey cassette, my tape stamped by you |
Can’t no other take your place, cause you’s the best |
Screwed Up Records & Tapes, so fuck the rest |
You a true Southsider, 6−10 glider |
Off the chain, we gonna miss you mayn |
Hop out the fo' do', with a mouth piece to glow |
Bitch niggas be hating us, why I keep a 4−4 |
Chips only wash up, screens to Acapulco |
Lord knows, that we miss you Screw |
And it’s me the T, and we gon still love you |
Coming through in the blue, on blades and dots |
Chopping blocks, trunk pops and sailing the South |
And to you bitch niggas, keep my name out your mouth |
Screw opened the do' for a lot of cats, we gon chop it up we gon bring it back |
South Klique that is a fact, S.U.C. |
with my trunk cracked |
Bound to kill with Shorty Mac, a verbal attack when I earn my plack |
My mouth piece like selling crack, chop say with panamax |
I miss that boy so I blaze a bag, in the turning lane I’m sitting fat |
Screwed up the way you did that, D.E.A. |
we got your back |
It’s the Jay’Ton, little brother of the Trae |
We kicked it a few times, and met on the Beltway |
You was a real nigga, and I looked up to that |
Screwed up on every track, I wish I could bring you back |
The real gon peep real, and real gon peep fake |
Screwed Up Records & Tapes, that’s all I gotta say |
R.I.P. |
Screw-U, you know we gon hold it down |
Slow Loud And Bangin, all over H-Town |