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Fell in love with a |
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Cadillac [x2] |
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Trunk turn flip, like a acrobat [Hook x2] |
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Broke up with my foreign car, and fell in love with a |
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Cadillac [x3] |
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Trunk turn flip, like a acrobat [Trae:] |
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I woke up, thinking foreign car |
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But the Cadillac, got a nigga sitting in a daze 24's and a swiss, sitting sideways |
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Trae flipping through the hood, like |
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I'm running through a maze |
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Find me trunk up, with the top back |
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One deep in the front, two freaks in the back |
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Haters mad at me, cause |
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I'm MVP stats |
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Better give me fifty feet, cause |
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I'm good with the gat |
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Good with the track, like |
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I'm good with the hands 15's banging, like |
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I'm battle of the bands |
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New Benz like send, they run up out of grand |
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And the trunk read |
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Trae, so they know that |
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I'm the man |
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Me Paul Wall, in a slab out of |
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Texas In a |
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Cadillac, had to get rid of the |
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Lexus Rather be gangsta, tipping on something |
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With something in the clip, that'll get rid of the plexing [Boss:] |
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I fell in love, with my |
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Coupe DeVille |
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It's on a switch, it's the truth for real |
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Scraping the back down, these |
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Southwest streets |
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Got a few teeth in the grill, loose for real |
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Big pumps, two to the front one to the back |
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One wheel in the air, gliding like that |
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Three O-7, rebuilt without chrome |
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Hundred spoke |
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Daytons, with the two prones |
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Next week, |
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I'm in some'ing from the |
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Lowrider book |
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I'ma show these motherfuckers, how a lowrider look |
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Hit a switch on |
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Boss, will get your lowrider took |
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In '98, I use to be the lowrider crook |
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Fleetwoods, |
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El-Dogs Sedan |
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DeVilles When |
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I ride, always equipped with handy steel |
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Cocked up on three, and got em standing still |
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I'm in the attick, wondering when |
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I'm gon land and chill [Hook x2] [Juicy J:] |
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I'm never staying focused, always smoking |
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Presidential kushing, always choking |
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Nigga I drank up, all your purple |
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If I find out, that shit be potent |
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Mayn I get high, fuck that shit |
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Your baby mama out here, sucking my dick |
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I'ma make her pay me, that child support |
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I'm a pimp out here, trying to make it rich |
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If you really wanna get high, let me know |
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I'll tell |
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C.B., let you hit that blow |
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We can ride in the |
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Cadillac, way in the fucking back |
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Hitting all the spots, just hogging that hoe |
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Then take a lot of freaks, to the |
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Hotel room |
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System on blast, you can hear that boom |
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Mayn I'ma pop bout, two three |
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X And drop my drawas, and take this chewing [DJ Paul:] |
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See in that |
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M-Town, we snort that blow |
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Turn around mayn, and whip our hoes |
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Take me big gulp, full of that drank |
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Now I'm high, don't know what to think |
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First I had em beating fast, now |
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I got em knocking slow |
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Sniff a lil' mo' of this sip a lil' mo' of that, even down the middle whoa |
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Closed up my foreign do's, opened up my |
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American do's '72 |
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Sedan DeVille, 84's and 20 inch vogues |
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Chandillere, hanging from the top |
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Fish tank, lit up in the glass box |
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But I had to put, the toy fish in it |
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Cause the real ones died, from the kick box bitch [Hook x2] [Jay'Ton:] |
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Jay'Ton, pull up in a |
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Lac cocked up 22 inch chrome, bags popped up |
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Diamonds in our mouth, cash stocked up |
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Ice game six, so the game locked up 9-4 |
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Fleetwood, headlights on |
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Fifth let back, but the trunk moved on |
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Flying through the hood, with the six 12's on |
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Seal in the groove, super kush to the dome 19 in the game, only love for my |
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Lac Never loving a dame, swang to the left |
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When I'm hulling the frame, trying to take mine |
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You'll be hugging a stain, like |
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I'm hugging the lane |
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Screw tape still on, drank in my cup |
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Everytime, that |
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I roam Roach ass hoes, still calling my phone |
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Representing for the |
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South, H-Town is my home [Trae:] |
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I'm a 24 inch black, |
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Fleetwood glider |
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Tipping the block, they love the way the drop sit wider |
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Lord knows haters mad, when the left fly by ya |
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Call it what you want, but the |
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Lac stay way liver |
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Boppers all on my dick, with the trunk up |
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Beating up the |
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Boulevard, with the beat pumped up |
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Hit a switch on the remote, the front jump up |
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Run up on the slab, roam that'll get you lumped up |
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Hopping out looking like do's, got threw on backwards |
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Throwed wardrobe, by my bed son of a bastard |
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When it come to |
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Cadillacs, |
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Trae got that mastered |
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And the game that |
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I got, way flyer than |
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NASA Me and |
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Three 6, representing for the drank sippers |
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Iced out grills, and the wood grain grippers 84 swangs, and the late night tippers |
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Riding for the hood, |
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Cadillac tight whippers [Paul Wall:] |
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I got that candy red, with extra gloss |
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Heads turn, when they see me floss |
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Scooped up |
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Trae, on a sunny day |
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Holla at Jay' |
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Ton, and my boy |
|
Lil' Boss |
|
Trying to stay popping, and hoes stay bopping |
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Cause the swangas poking, and the blades stay chopping |
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Beat the case, but the |
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FEDs still watching |
|
In the Fed- |
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Ex truck, right down the street plotting |
|
Dropped the top, if the sun on shine |
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Sipping on some potent, puffing on pine |
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Slow Loud |
|
And Bangin', in a candy slab line |
|
Down here in |
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H-Town, it go down |
|
Old school |
|
Cheves, and throwback |
|
Lacs Swangas and vogues, with a trunk that crack |
|
This how it goes, down here in the 3rd |
|
Coast Houston |
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Texas, at the bottom of the map baby [Hook x2] |