| This Sil from the West, mayn
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| Just doing a bunch of chilling, gon keep in playa mode
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| What you niggas know, about pulling out slow
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| Missing the top, riding glass 84's
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| What you niggas know, about a playa like me
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| Better cuff your hoe, cause I’m a P-I-M-P
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| What you niggas know, about a hater that’ll hate
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| Knocking my fame, we moving units like weight
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| What you niggas know, about Glocks and AK’s
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| When it’s time for the plex, they cock and they spray
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| What you niggas know about a hot shot, tossing a drop top
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| Flipping with hot Glocks, when he tipping a hot block
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| A playa slash a Guerilla, that’s mobbing for scrilla
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| They fake and I’m realer, and plus these niggas be sweeter than vanilla
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| I think they hate me, cause I’m Slow Loud And Bangin'
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| They really better keep they distance, before they see Trae get to swanging
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| And I can recall, riding an Impala, '78 to be exact
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| With no AC radio, and the tires on flat
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| But that was the past, and now you see me in a slab on glass
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| My drop’s first class, and now these hoes be giving up they ass
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| To tell the truth, I really don’t need em they just something to do
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| I’d rather be crawling late night, while I’m thinking bout Screw
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| Now tell me what you know about, swanging lanes on 4's
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| Stay in my pimp mode, cause I don’t love none of these hoes
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| I throw em back like throwbacks, and hit em for a G
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| Got niggas cuffing they broads, so they won’t fuck with Lil B
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| Still I crawl up the road, so slow knowing they hate
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| Thinking I’m fake just wait, I’ma let this AK spray
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| But I be stuck on my hustle, my pockets must gain a muzzle
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| I had a couple of tussles, that’s why a nigga will rush you
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| I don’t love you or your gal, I’m too in love with my slab
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| And the way a nigga be throwing these hands, steady giving you jabs
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| You crabs that’s biting, like an infested STD
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| I can flaunt it if I want it, repping S-L-A-B
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| What you niggas know, about a teenage Southsider
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| With fifth wheels and grills, T.V.'s on the outside
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| Of my car in my side view, peeping the haters
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| I’m something like a superstar, when I pull out that Navigator
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| 1 to the 7, and now you niggas know my age
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| And if you disrespect a G, then you fin to know my gauge
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| I got game like a motherfucker, or baby Don Juan
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| And if you boppers wanna see me, go to Jay’Ton.com
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| Talking down beneath your arm, I ain’t playing with you cats
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| I done came from being broke, and I don’t plan on going back
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| So I mash full speed, for my cash to get paid
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| I use to want ice, now I’m on a ice-capade
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| Can I have everyone’s attention, front and center listen to reason
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| This is my reason for what repping, and tipping through seasons
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| Sliding down with a bad breezie, sipping smoking and leaning
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| When I stop at the light, other people be watching my T.V.'s
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| Lil' kids they wanna be me, or have a daddy just like me
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| I’m the Don-Datta, Dougie but fuck it just call me papi
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| What you niggas know, about riding on chrome
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| And dropping the drop on the belly, high-siding on hoes
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| In the cockpit, I keep a cocked pistol for cock suckers
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| Mashing on all haters, and utilizing my hustles
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| You think you know, but you really have no idea
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| Dougie D 2000 and 3, it’s your boy right here
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| (*talking*)
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| Yeah, we keep in playa mode baby
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| S.L.A.B., Slow Loud And Bangin'
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| Trae, Dougie D, Lil B, Jay’Ton you know it go down
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| What you niggas know, about being real
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| What you niggas know, about keeping it gangsta
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| What you niggas know, about keeping it street
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| Fa real, follow us we’ll show you the way, straight up |