Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 3rd Coast , by - Z-Ro. Release date: 09.10.2000
Song language: English
3rd Coast |
| Yeah sup Ro sup Grace, it’s your boy Den Den |
| To jump on this track with you boys, you know I’m tal’n bout |
| It’s all about the 3rd baby 3rd coast, yeah I got this |
| See I’m mentally ready, fuck those is testing me |
| Progress is so sweet, ain’t tripping with envy |
| Slip and slide like a snake, vibrate the world like a quake |
| Mashing hard on the gas, with 3rd Coast on the plate |
| Roll on cowards and busters, peeping them soldiers and hustlers |
| Got an eye for them fuckers, that trying P.H. |
| with snorkels |
| Got a trunk full of clutches, blinding mine make you stutter |
| I blow like a hurricane, so close all your shutters |
| See I wants everything, and everything I’m gone have |
| Roll out my red carpet, just to go to my stash |
| Third coast, blinding and shining like a brand new slab |
| On my birthday, I’m throwing me a fortune life bash |
| If you living shife, don’t fuck with 3rd Coast |
| These niggas can’t fade 3rd Coast, these niggas can’t fade 3rd Coast |
| You could lose your life, don’t fuck with 3rd Coast |
| These niggas can’t fade 3rd Coast, these niggas can’t fade 3rd Coast |
| This how we ride in 3rd, po' up syrup blow herb |
| From lane to lane we grip the grain, and 20's chop up the curb |
| We popping flippers on sippers, 3rd Coast g’s on the rise |
| With bubble eyes and customized, and chrome be 20 inches wide |
| Entertainment center be lit up, and all the trunks gone lift up |
| Button rims they rip up, down talkers mouths gone zip up |
| It’s that time and here we come, 3rd Coast take a stand |
| We drew it up and screwed them up, proceeded through with the plan |
| Jumped in the mix with hundred bricks, and now a mobbing gorilla |
| Unanimous go-getter, about the scrilla my nigga |
| Stay loaded up and we ready, Box City working that jelly |
| Burning more streets than Perelli, while cutting up like machetes |
| No doubt screwed up candy paint, killer think straight drink |
| Down here we swinging the tank, and every thought be bout bank |
| I’ma be T from the S.U.C., pay dues got stripes that be ranks |
| That boy G-R-A-C-E, 3rd Coast born caught off game |
| 3rd Coast, don’t fuck with 3rd Coast |
| These niggas can’t fade 3rd Coast, these niggas can’t fade 3rd Coast |
| I done took a lot of losses, now it’s time to win |
| No more signing dotted lines, and I stay dollars spend |
| I want convertible Benz, with the blue bubble lens |
| I’m worth a million off the corner, when I’m pimping my pen |
| Blue over gray is my choice, pearl white Rolls Royce |
| Don’t need no natural lemon tea, I don’t be training my voice |
| I’m signed thoed by nature, suckers, punchers, simps and fakers |
| A click full of back breakers, and more in a Studebaker |
| The Mo City Don, I wave a truck like it’s a wand |
| Hit the ATM machine, ain’t no need for me to pawn |
| Cause I’m paid, my game sharper than a razor blade |
| Bald faded and X-rated, the Gucci’s is tailor made |
| I bubble in the sauna, as I smoke marijuana |
| From Daytona to Arizona, no longer on the corner |
| World wide, I gotta keep the dream alive |
| 2Pac and Biggie done died, so now they ready for the Southside |
| Top dropping, body rocking like Fat Pat |
| Dirty rats get splat, when I pull out my black Mack |
| Cause it’s over, the fat lady done sung the song |
| From California to Rome, these hoes pussies stay warm |
| And on to the Alamo Dome, then right back home |
| Ain’t no regular we hydro’d, as 4−54 |
| On the po’s, be spinning flipping with yellow boned women |
| Swimming in divid-ends, cause I’m cold with my pimping |
| If you living shife, don’t fuck with 3rd Coast |
| These niggas can’t fade 3rd Coast, these niggas can’t fade 3rd Coast |
| You could lose your life, don’t fuck with 3rd Coast |
| These niggas can’t fade 3rd Coast, these niggas can’t fade 3rd Coast |