Trae Tha Truth - Gangsta lyrics

(*talking*) SK, Sha, bout time you let these n***as know What you really bout, know I'm saying It's Slow Loud And Bangin', all these mark a** n***as We bringing the real back, street sh** Gangsta sh**, fin to put you hoes in your place [Lil Boss Hogg] A pair of fresh pressed Khakis, and Chucks will do me fine I provide promethazyne, so please pour out that whine But don't waste it on my new shoestrings, b**h I bang My bold laces, match the same color of my flag that hangs (damn) I stay G to the T, E to the B H to the C, the streets raised me properly Block monopoly, always some sh** in the block Cali building got naughty, knocked off Big Glock Had to call up Reese's, got guns to dock He done called his connect, and picked up a new stock These broke a** n***as, ain't nothing but peasants Wrap a n***a a** up, like Christmas presents These n***as ain't G's, these n***as is wussies Get your lips off my dick, and go eat you some p**y I ain't worried bout a b**h, she can kiss my a** The only time I come to f**, is when I can't get cash Keep your mind off mines, and build up your stash All blunts rolled up, endo in hash Out of a b**h a** n***a, I'll make a believer Have these n***as catching bullets, like wide receivers b**h I hit a lick, bought a Lac hit a switch You can ask these n***as trick, S.L.A.B. the sh** Just because playas get chose, you wan' grab your b**h I bet nine out of ten, we can have the b**h [Trae] I never been a thug, till I graduated to one And never shot a slug, till I got my hands on a gun These n***as be fraud and fake, and ain't never been worthy Got me feeling like Jordan, dumping 23 in they jersey I'm sick and I'm slick, I run with gang bangers and jackers Frame plackers and bad actors, being watched by them crackers I'm running through plex with plex, like I'm Randy Moss You run in my house, your head I'm fin to be knocking it off And f**ing your spouse, with nuts running all in her mouth That b**h'll get tossed, like a drop top slab in the South God damn cause here I go again, cooking and flipping dope again Ten bricks in the do' again, ready to hit the road again Trae done just wrecked the flow again, lyrically I'm a a** I'm sick of these roaching n***as, trying to get inside of my stash b**h it ain't gon happen, f** rapping cause I'ma get you And have your mama in church, word for word reading scriptures [Yung Redd] Don't let me grab the chrome, and break up a happy home Long as I'm getting my hustle on, ain't nothing wrong Now all my music, ain't just good wordplay Listen real close, n***as feel ery'thing I say Play it smart, you can get your days dark Them K's spark and break you apart, n***a so don't start You don't wanna end your life, on a bad note Get lost in gun smoke, n***as better take notes From neopacknol, you ain't getting nothing back Plus the new Cadillac, 22's under that 7-1-3, n***as better move out Walk a straight line, Yung Redd keep his tool out (*talking*) Yeah, it's not a game know I'm saying The world is crooked, my n***as is straight [J-Doe] My n***a, it's time to make this sh** known S Dub, V is finally in the Screw zone It took a minute, but you know we had to find home Too many funny n***as, acting like they wasn't wrong Jump fly with a vulture, get your brains blown You Donny Brasco, me my n***a I'm Al Kapone We take private flights, you n***as never leave home Fifteen hundred, plus I gotta get some thoed dome I f**'s, with the S.U.Cizzy Moving these tapes, with the B.U.Dizzy Vulture piece spin, until I O-Dizzy A thoed mouthpiece, make pimping so easy Bat a hoe up, like my n***a named Geezy Repping the Dub, with S.L.A.Beezie [Z-Ro] Joseph rain, I'm here to put black eyes in the game Wouldn't give a f** about rapping, I'm a gangsta you know my name Some people call me the crooked, some people call me the Don Some people call me heartless, cause if it's beef I'll smoke your mom's And your papa and your uncle Eddy, n***a this war for real I suggest you go get your people ready, cause I'ma slide by and f** a driveby I'ma throw my sh** in park, and straight up hopping out Sound like applause in the streets, all these Uzi shells dropping out f** with Mr. McVey, and diiiie Repping it like Southsive for live, fo' liiife I pistol grip, with motherf**ers at all times Navy blue up in the Regal, leaning to the left side 2-wheeling down South McGregor, bending corners in the Tre No license or insurance, but I ain't legal anyway Gon jump on the bun, cause my warrant got a color One love to Yukmouth, in uniting the ghettos we all gutter