Fat Pat - Swang Down lyrics

[Hook - 2x] Swing down, sweet chariots let me ride Coming down slow, on the damn Southside Swanging on 4's, slamming on do's Pimping your hoes, that's the way it goes [Fat Pat] It's the big sugar daddy, bailing none other Coming down with Blount, in the red and peanut bu*ter Naw I didn't stutter, popping trunks surround Coming down slow, watch a playa what clown On the Boulevard, yeah my swangas we'll mob I'm coming down the Boulevard, swanging on 'em hard Me and C.B., got the T.V. on Got my Glock in my lap, riding till dawn Man it's on, when we hit the parking lot Pop trunk red neon, it don't stop Watching hoes bop, cause we on that gla** C.B. crawling, yeah I got on my mask With my Sacci locs, ready to let my pistol smoke Cause up in the C, and I'm gone off that dope Leaning on the drank, so what you think I got my hand on my Glock, plus I got my shank [Hook - 2x] [Mike D] I swang on dots, floss on chops Hit the scene heat it up, like a boiling crock pot Dipping so low, in the Jag co*kpit Got my paws frostbit, with six screens lit Feeling like the sh**, mobbing on twin Z's Pat and Blount in the Lac, I'm in the J-A-G Sipping a skeet taste, with a cannon on my waste Iceberg to the drawas, putting it all in your face Shocking and body rocking, swanging side to side Crawling wide body, with Palomino inside Tell I'm a 84 glider, mono-block glider Catch me and 3 in the Pathfinder, with diamonds that'll blind you Smoking on sticky, sipping lean in my machine Through the parking lot crawling, hogging dogging the scene With my mug on mean, working sixteen Swanging on you boys, fulfilling ghetto dreams [Hook - 2x] [Mr. 3-2] Lumilean to Eddies, money over bop hoes My Diablo, and see six zeros n***as sturn like 84's, and switch like kids Gotta move around, cause they'll put it in yo ur ears Still sipping but no beer, checking up my styrofoam In H-Town Texas, my home sweet home The Governor and Corleone, P-A-T resurrected Vote for Mr. 3-2, to be reelected We mafia connected, with the streets on lock Entertaining my peoples, on the fifty foot yacht I pull a big body out to, bending corners turning heads From the Boulevard MLK, to the blocks of Homestead Flossing and flipping turning, tipping so low Beating the trunk, and dropping the top real slow Letting the world feel it, realest from the Gulf Coast We swang down up on the block, body rock with my folks [Hook - 2x] (*scratching*)