Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song What I Represent (S.L.A.B.ed), artist - Trae Tha Truth. Album song Slow, Loud and Bangin', Vol. 4, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 17.01.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Grand hustle, Trae Tha Truth
Song language: English
What I Represent (S.L.A.B.ed) |
Four do’s, behind the tint |
You know, I still got love for my |
S.L.A.B., swanging wide and looking thoed |
That’s how them S.L.A.B. |
niggas roll |
You know, we still Slow Loud And Bangin', S.L.A.B |
Now why won’t they pay me, Lakeisha and Brenda |
See Brenda was the girl, that stayed across from Tammy |
See Tammy told Lekeisha, I was up to no good |
And all I did was sold dope, and grip on the wood |
See Lakeisha never knew a thing, about Lil Head |
All she knew the slab I’m flipping, shit it use to be red |
She was amazed, from the orange over gray |
I got your number I’ma holla back, now listen to Trae |
Hopping out my slab, paint be shining like I was Puffy |
A bad boy to the fullest, you nothing niggas disgust me |
Trae a gangsta and a pimp with a limp, more flyer than a blimp |
With Dougie on the side, as he roll in the back with a clip |
With me and Warren swanging a four, and like it’s a Houpe |
On the highway for the loot, and D-Bo hanging out the roof |
To for them niggas not knowing, we be on that other shit |
Pop the trunk and banging shit, fo' do' tinted up type shit |
Whether blue or red, we still proceed to turn a head |
Introduce 'em to the sound, of a nigga that’s bout his bread |
Rep a nigga till he dead, everyday I gotta get it raw |
This how I spit it, till a nigga see a mill ticket |
Creep and crawl in my fo' do', I let my ass end up |
As I recline slide on buck, with drank in my cup |
My screens digital, showing nothing but raw naked ass |
Click the remote, and watch a hater as he bypass |
With the automatic camera, secured by Viper |
Give my bitch three feet, 'fore I become a sniper |
A close street fighter, you don’t want it with me |
So it be best, you stay away from my S-L-A-B |
When I creep it’s late night, picking up your hoe |
Bending corners in Hiram-Clarke, banging S.L.A.B. |
Volume 4 |
A pro that you know, by the name of Lil B |
When I ride, I hide behind T-I-N-T |
I creep the block late night, on a mission for cash |
'93 road master, when I mash the gas |
With Lil B and Lil T, when I’m flipping the South |
What you know about them thugs, with karats up in they mouth |
It’s the S.L.A.B. |
Slow Loud And Bangin', representing for Texas |
For haters that got plexes, we leaving you niggas chestless |
No games gon be played, if you fucking with me |
It’s the nigga Jay’Ton, from S-L-A-B |
Candy red Impala, it be my slab |
Coming down the Boulevard, throwing deuce and dab |
I ain’t tripping just sipping, when I’m crawling slow |
Blowing on the killa dro, I don’t want no mo' |
Gotta watch out for my car, cause it’s my main |
See my down the I-10, on them Euro’s mayn |
Me and the click getting raw, like Chi-Town and Utah |
We the best you ever seen, like Rockets and Yao Ming |
Don’t stretch the slab, cause somebody will top you |
Even if it’s Shae, in that candy blue |
Can’t forget about BJ, he wet up too |
South Klique and S.L.A.B., got niggas sicker than the flu |
Slow Loud And Bangin', up and down your block |
Smoking sipping, and flipping flossing and dropping the top |
Leaving the Boulevard wet, when I be pulling out |
That there, ain’t nothing but candy mayn |
Fifth reclined, spiders be spinning up out my 4's |
Screens lit, huffing and puffing and blowing dro |
Lane to lane, swang and popping the trunk on you hoes |
That’s the way it goes down, in the Dirty you know |
Slip and we sliding, riding high yeah we looking good |
Like UGK, I got’s to keep diamonds against the wood |
Cutting corners and bending blocks, up in every hood |
Behind tint, so you can’t see what I’m doing |
Fo' do’s behind tint, roof lift I’m getting bent |
Hit the switch the trunk release, on them 4's |
I play it you leave stuck, my slab as I flow |
Bending corners against the grain, cracking the frame |
Nigga bang or snooze, as I cruise on the block |
My screens lit, time to clear the club parking lot |
I’m one deep, so I got enough room for the bops |
From a Houpe, back to a drop |
J-Dub I’m getting shine on, through a school zone |
Ain’t no stopping for boppers, cause I got money on my mind |
By the way that I blind, you can tell I ain’t lying |
Only 12 and a playa, and he running the family |
You a hater move around, cause you ain’t no kin to me |
J-D-U-B, nigga F-U-K me |
Baby edging, and ain’t no way you can fade me |