Lyrics What You Gone Do (S.L.A.B.ed) - Trae Tha Truth

What You Gone Do (S.L.A.B.ed)

Niggas thought we was missing in action
But now we back in they face
Tell me what the fuck they gon do, now that we
(*Ludacris*)
We bout to take off, so F what you heard
Because my side mirrors flap, like a fucking bird
And for the fools we gon clock one, and we’ll pop one
Cause my folk riding shot gun, with a shotgun — 2x
Tell me what you gon do
When, I’m coming for you
Who a nigga 17, that you know with a strap
It’s Jay’Ton, coming from the lower part of the map
Watch what you say bitch, cause your phones is tapped
I’m riding in my Buick, creeping with my heat in my lap
When you see me coming move, 'fore you get ranned over
Can’t you see, that the Down South is taking over
If you don’t believe me bitch, I’ma have to smoke you
You gon be that next witness, meeting up with Jehovah
Tell me what you gon do, when I grab my tool
And I cock that bitch back, fin to (act a fool)
So tell me what you gon do, when I swoop the block
And kick your do' with thugs, that’ll (act a fool)
You a chump ass nigga, that I really don’t bar
That’s why I’m grabbing a Mack, letting off shots through your car
Who I are, Lil Beezie fa sheezie I leave em greasy
When you get out of line, I promise you gon have to see me
Believe me, I bust rounds until my clip is empty
You tell me fuck around and rush with a pitbull attitude, not friendly
You rookie, that’s sweeter than a fresh odor spanked Ma cookie
Better duck before I bust, and leave you wetter than some hot pussy
Give a fuck, nigga
Pulling up slow-mo, ready to buck nigga
I’m out the rooftop let out duck nigga, too late you got stuffed
That’s what they get for playing with me, I don’t give a fuck
Mike D Corleone, bitch I’m back home
Playing spot back, so nigga bring that shit on
That Glock your own, gon be hurting tonight
Hit it ghetto-burg yellow tape, working tonight
I’m like good yay dog, if you serve it right
But don’t play my nerves nigga, I’m the nervous type
I got a itchy itchy itchy, itchy trigga finger
Let the K drop out, a hundred shots in you
Hit your block, in a black mask
On they ass, flipping in a Nova
Coming out, strapped up like a soldier
When I hit the lights, you know it’s over
Ain’t no drivebys, on you wise guys
On the low, coming and slide guys
In a Maab, labeled no guide lines
In all black, with no bean pies
Tell me what you gon do, when I’m coming
They be coming the rhythm, I ain’t bumping
And I bob and I weave, and a left
And a right quick blow, till your head be lumping
And it ain’t, no Baretta
When I’m face to face, coming to get you
Hit you with Guerilla Maab, and that S.L.A.B.
squad
With red dots, so we don’t miss you
I’m so tired, of being humble (humble)
I’m fins to hit your block, in that Matchbox black Hummer
Hit the lock, and let it rumble (let it rumble)
'Fore it’s missiles twist and turn, plus them hoes tumble
Hold the rock, we never fumble (never fumble)
When it hit, you feel the burn scream and just mumble
It’s S-Dub Vaulters (Vaulters)
Walking around, with two toasters on the holsters
And if it’s drama, I’m the closest (I'm the closest)
Don’t need to invite us, bitch we the hostess
It’s Dub-V and S.L.A.B.
(S.L.A.B.)
Somebody call Sound Scan, cause these tracks getting S.L.A.B-ed
Y’all already know, we the cream of the crop
Whatever bitch that’s throwing his gums, then that’s the bitch we gon drop
We keeping it hotter than a sauna, your whole click fin to get rolled over
Like a stick of dro when I blow you, left-right uppercut when I fold you
S-L-A-B repping, betting none of you niggas can come and bump with it
Holding it down throughout H-Town, all the way back to Tex-City
3 let it get loose again, S.L.A.B.
hitting hoes choosing and
Running these old turtle ass niggas, back up in they shells again
We bout to blow you to the table, crush the tension
We done had enough of the small talk, and enough lip from you bitches
So keep your smiles and kisses, friendly shit out that bitches
I’m the type of nigga that’ll turn a so-called gangsta, back religious
Here I come, coming to get you
You niggas don’t get the picture, till 40 rounds come hit you
I’m the hard nigga, in this bitch with Maab niggas
And we disregard niggas, cause we taking charge nigga
You was running your mouth uh, now that’s gon
Make a nigga run in your house, and put the gun in your mouth
I see the fear in your eyes, bitch
If I so much as see a tear in your eyes, I’m gon materialize
You better realize, me and my niggas we be Guerillas
Some go-getters, so if I want you I’ma go get you
I’m bout to go nigga, nothing else matter
When the 40 hit your brain, won’t nothing else splatter