| Man, this motherfucking underground shit
|
| Ain’t ready for S.L.A.B. |
| baby, we in here
|
| It’s that nigga Rick D baby, I’m in here with Trae
|
| Guerrilla Maab, and the Girt mayn
|
| Shitting on the spit mayn, it’s going down 2003
|
| Hey get down, lay down
|
| Cause we got what it takes, to make you cakes and all you bricks
|
| Lay down, hate now
|
| It’s Girt Boys, S.L.A.B. |
| and Trae, you know we gotta represent
|
| H-Town, whoa now
|
| Don’t beef with the team, we mean what we say so
|
| Bitch slow down, whoa now
|
| Nigga we’ll put it in your face, get it straight
|
| We Guerillas, you niggas is chimps
|
| And we too tall, to deal with you shrimps
|
| By the way I’m a playa, boo-wow when I fill you with shrimp
|
| Respect my gangsta chick, cause you dealing with pimps
|
| Hey I’m straying off of the subject, if you don’t feel S.L.A.B
|
| The Mack’ll have you feeling Trae, off of your stomach
|
| That’s Trae from the Tre pound, off of your stomach
|
| We go platinum, I’m hitting Trae out for the hundreds
|
| Some of you hate, to see us niggas get paid
|
| And that’s probably why we got bad blood, like niggas with AIDS
|
| This game ain’t sweet, but y’all got licorice ways
|
| The truth hurt, you don’t want me to finish this phrase do you
|
| Aw naw, Trae up in this bitch
|
| And tear the walls down, I thought I told you befo'
|
| Hey back down, 'fore a nigga Mack drown
|
| You in a pool of blood, and let me tell you something else
|
| Mack rounds, leave a nigga back down
|
| On the ground, cause he choose to thug
|
| That popcorn shit, bout to drown out
|
| Call me ringmaster, cause I’m calling clowns out
|
| On some pimp shit, smacking you sluts
|
| On some square shit, snatching your nuts
|
| And boys better, get it right
|
| 'Fore I hit em right, in they fitted right
|
| Between the letters, put it on your mind you get it right
|
| Say, let me slow it down
|
| So you can keep up, Unique I hold it down
|
| Like Will and C-Note
|
| You niggas can’t tell me, you don’t feel what we quote
|
| U-nique, bastard child
|
| Ignorant slow swagger, nasty smile
|
| Grit Boys, ain’t no concern what you bragging bout
|
| Like MLK on Sunday, nigga slabbed out
|
| I do' ran up on a nigga, and spit it sick on all you faking niggas
|
| Hell-i-fied when I click on niggas, that be on my dick ass niggas
|
| I’m telling you I’m a lunatic, but my name ain’t Nelly
|
| I be the one, to hit the block and let off five in your belly
|
| One deep and swanging a Chevy, Slow Loud And Bangin' I’m packing
|
| Bad ain’t to know niggas stacking, them niggas need to quit rapping
|
| Haven’t you heard of my team, with a red beam
|
| And it’s cocked, with a four pound that I’m packing
|
| I make a heavyweighter drop stop and roll, trying to get away from the Maab
|
| Niggas tripping, they think I’m slicking they ass out of a job
|
| And I know I’m too hard, so you niggas finna see
|
| I’m a nigga with attitude, that these haters don’t wanna meet
|
| Fuck you, and the rest that hate
|
| Grit Boys rep the H, got heat that’ll melt your face
|
| You must got breath, to waste
|
| Fuck that shit, my niggas trying to get some cake
|
| Hey, Girt Boys came to win
|
| Got the rap game, caving in
|
| Nigga I ain’t your friend, Scoob don’t know y’all niggas
|
| So, he let the chamber spin
|
| Then, get back to my do'
|
| Get stacks from my hoe, bitch crack on the low
|
| I’m telling y’all niggas
|
| Any chit-chat, guns’ll blow whoa
|
| Oh, can’t forget B and Trae
|
| Y’all niggas don’t need to play, might just bleed today
|
| The Maab in this bitch, so drop to your knees and pray
|
| We know, none of y’all niggas want it with Arch'
|
| I’ll have the paramedics screaming, that they losing your heartbeat
|
| Cause damn, I’ve been waiting a long time
|
| To show you cock sucker motherfuckers, I work with this chrome nine
|
| And fuck who you came with, cause all y’all faking
|
| You need to peep game, and realize what y’all facing
|
| I keep them hogs waiting, for any altercation
|
| I let the bullets rush through your team, like Walter Payton
|
| I get it done right, nigga MJ style
|
| I’ll give you 42 shots, in one night
|
| And yeah I let the Mach spit, and make you
|
| Bitch niggas back down for fucking with Arch, S.L.A.B. |
| and Grit bitch
|
| You boys better move around, back-back
|
| 'Fore I grab the black gat, busting shots that’ll make your blood splat |
| Feel that Grit, S.L.A.B. |
| and my kin folk Trae
|
| Shooting game to you busters, we hustles for pay day
|
| Gotta get it come back with it, it don’t quit
|
| Lay you down, 'fore you fuck around and get your wig split
|
| Young Guerillas that’s after scrilla, haters you gotta love it
|
| Push and shove it, you think I’m bluffing big trucks I’m dubbing
|
| Plus fo' still known, to tack a hater toe
|
| Representing H-Town, whenever you hear me flow
|
| Lil B, also known as By-Bo
|
| Get out of line, I’ll be busting like a crooked po-po
|
| Fa sho a nigga gleam, better yet a nigga shine
|
| Bled blocks for stocks, on the corners of Grape Vine
|
| When you see a nigga, chunk a deuce or move around
|
| Third Coast finest, making you chumps lay it down
|
| Make way for the Jay’Ton, he next to bat
|
| With a gat and a pack, that’ll heat up your back
|
| Do my dirt and burn off, you wankstas getting tossed
|
| Swanging the boulevard, till the laws getting lost
|
| Hit the block and set up shop, for fiends that need rocks
|
| Just quick it if you wanna, then I’m knocking your ass off
|
| Like Lennox Lewis, candy blue on the Buick
|
| If it’s fast then I Screw it, I gotta stay true to it
|
| It’s the S-L-A-B, I got it tatted on my arm
|
| 15's be beating, like I be busting at Sadaam
|
| 17 years old, a gangsta I know
|
| If a nigga out of line, I’m wrecking him like a flow |