| Ah-ha, we Slow Loud And Bangin' you heard me
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| You could believe that, y’all ain’t ball what we bringing this year
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| We busting heads ducking FEDs, you heard me
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| You better watch your broad, cause she will get tossed
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| Believe that, Clue holla at your boys man
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| We down here doing it just like y’all
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| We bringing it man, we coming for it
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| I’m dope, like a pound or ki
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| Shut the fuck up, and listen to me
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| Your boy bout Mack-matics, hustle game drastic
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| The way I make them birds flip, like gymnastics
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| Pull the duct tape and rope out, on a dope route
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| 23 inch rims, the boy gotta poke out
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| Duck a FED, lil' one bust a head
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| Get the bread all day, that’s how I play it
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| Ain’t got time for that dumb shit, cousin catch a cut
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| When I drop my nuts, whodi heads bust
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| Spend a lot of big faces dog, in God we trust
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| And if you flexing up, whacking you is a must
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| Let me introduce you, to the young gunners
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| In a six, top down living stunners
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| I’m a pimp, game I gotta run em
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| My money, bitch you ain’t getting none of that
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| With a brick and tank I’m hauling that, on the way to Louisiana
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| I got stangs off in Savannah, with my nigga Shot in Atlanta
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| S.L.A.B. |
| Slow Loud And Bangin', it’s plain to see we ain’t changing
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| The block get bled wherever I’m hanging, everyday all day I’m stanging
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| D-Bo and Rick in a Expedition, T.V.'s in a 2K3 edition
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| Black on black tint, so niggas missing
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| With a throw away Glock, that a nigga ditching
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| I ain’t the nigga, that you wanna play with
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| I might click, then I might start to spray shit
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| Everytime I come out they cop this, cause they know they cannot stop this
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| M double A-B, anytime I swang you know I’m a G
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| S.U.C S-L-A-B, for life till I D-I-E
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| Lil B, popped up in a six
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| On a constant grind, steady hitting licks
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| Riding hell-a-chrome, getting hell-a-dome
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| From a thoed, Louisiana yellow bone
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| With my nigga T.C., you boys really don’t want it with me
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| Moving bricks, from N.O. |
| to A. C
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| Still repping S-L-A-B, S-L-A-B
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| I be the one that’ll leave you numb, with my lil' kin folk Jay’Ton
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| Dropping bombs, gripping guns
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| Slow, Loud And Bangin' is number one
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| But this ain’t Nelly, shots letting off through your pelly-pelly
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| If you try to shortstop my feddy
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| Like Archie Eversole nigga we ready we ready
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| Told you boys, we was ready for war
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| Like the Mafia, we above the law
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| Breaking jaws doing raw, sending bullet holes through your foreign car
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| Only for the pay day, running through hoes like a Texas Relay
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| On the block, with Shae and the BJ
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| I’m still pushing, these rhymes like weight
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| Don’t get the underground twisted fool, a nigga played it
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| Now they hating and hack and deleting, faggots out my bracket
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| Cooly D’s on swoll, but it really feel like it inhaled some potent chronic
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| Dro flows loc blows, still tracks like hop scotch
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| Back off in the mix I’m in it, still I be diminishing contenders
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| And I him they ass up, like suspenders
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| With seven to your back, like Mario Elly
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| Pop a pill-y of the X, and run it all through em really
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| I be that nigga sitting thoed, through the lot
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| A nigga like me, gotta bleed the block
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| Your little boy Jay’Ton, gotta drop the top
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| With brights and tearing, the G-Spot
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| I might take a hoe to Mo, knock her down
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| You know how we do it, up in the H-Town
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| That’s the Down South, golds in my mouth
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| I be that pimp, with hoes on a route
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| Gotta get my cash, pick it up and then I hit my gas
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| Burning off, like a shotgun blast
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| Ready to put my foot, in your ass
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| Then again, I’m in another mode
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| When I’m throwing bows, on 84's
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| With a yellow hoe, and a calico
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| Slow Loud And Bangin' till the day I go
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| (*talking*)
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| Ha, sit back and feel this one
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| S.L.A.B., Volume motherfucking 4
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| Trae in here hollin' at you, you know how it go
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| S.U. |
| motherfucking C. baby
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| S-L-A-B, Guerilla Maab, South Klique
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| H-Town's finest, you feel me
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| Oh yeah 3-Deuce you on lock boy
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| But you know I’ma hold it down for you
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| S.L.A.B. |
| forever, know I’m saying
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| R.I.P. |
| Screw-U, Mike D I see you just touched down
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| Put it in they face, my nigga
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| Gotta keep it gangsta, what up Carlos
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| At that Top Dollar, appreciate you
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| For the motherfucking instrumental
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| Now they can’t stop us from making hits, ha-ha |