Lyrics Where We Gone Swag - Trae Tha Truth, Lil B The Grinda

Where We Gone Swag

What’s the deal, this some’ing you know I’m saying
On the laid back note, ain’t always gotta be wired up
Sit back parlay and feel it, you know I’m saying
We still putting it in they face, and if you don’t know
S.L.A.B., Slow Loud And Bangin
Forever gon show up, but ay I want you to peep this
Me and Trae popped up, hot sunny day we cocked up
Grip the wood screens fall, drop the top sliding on the buck
Fifth relax trunk cracked, mind only on paper stacks
Swang 4's on a candy Lac, chrome for haters who wanna jack
Watch my back in the turning lane, swang and bang with a piece and chain
Diamond cuts princess cut, don’t trust a slut seven inch screens rain
Crawl slow trunk glow, me and Trae bout to wreck a show
Can’t forgot about Dougie D, Jay’Ton and Lil' T
Lil' B is who I am, sitting sideways don’t give a damn
Beans and rice candy yams, you might see me on the front of Slam
Magazine diamonds gleam, 32 inch bezeltyne
Plenty of starch up in my jeans, running through hoes like Natron Means
On the field with the ball, knocking pictures off your wall
Don’t need the dope in my drawas, riding legit fuck the laws
Inspection sticker license plates, twenty-two coats candy sprayed
Hit the club valet, playa made with a bald fade
'Sacci shades up on my face, nice crunk thighs with a itty-bitty waist
Sugar brown pop surround, bump and grind when I make my rounds
Press rewind when I’m in the deck, candy coated private jet
Only like my pussy wet, legs up when I’m having sex
Southside, is where we gon swang
Pulling up thoed, when I’m rolling
Crawling up the block, doing my thang
TV screens, steady showing
I’m lane to lane when I wreck the block, pull out slow so the boppers bop
Got ten thee in the stash spot, finna put mo' shit up in my drop tops
We bubble eyed lighting up the night, with Doug on the fo' mixed up with Sprite
Spitting out flows that’s out of sight, with Rock on the track we breaking mics
Better turn your head we living reckless, know y’all know don’t fuck with Texas
Why these fake niggas wanna test us, nigga like me ain’t barring plexes
I’m thinking slow but I’m moving fast, no hub caps I’m riding glass
Me and my boo into Hiram-Clarke, with a yellow bitch that got a lot of ass
Pardon me no disrespect, say baby girl wanna hit the X
In a late night on a freaky tip, hop in the car let’s go on dip
Moving on in mash mode, all about making my cash flow
Hating on me ain’t the thing to do, M double A-B might act a fool
I’m getting down like James Brown, far far back when I’m on recline
In my click I’ma lead the line, so a nigga like me ain’t hard to find
With frog eyes on a Cadillac, I know y’all niggas be feeling that
On the grind for the paper stack, got a red beam for the next to jack
Ain’t no knocking we riding clean, got a nigga named Screw nicknamed the King
Without a doubt he made the South, everybody else better close they mouth
I ride for that I love Screw-U, mayn that’s a fact
And don’t none of y’all ever forget that, talking down might get you slapped
nigga
Southside, crawling — 2x