Lyrics:
The pen, the sword, in accord
I got a taste for both
Original blows are critical
Rarely play the tropes
I live my life by the way
The one that I
And for the niggas selling cocaine, you're to blame
Black people lives ain't the same
And that's the tale in my hood
Niggas is up to no good
You better
(Chunk the deuce out the Coupe, is the fly way)
Good life, good life
(Electric gates, Texas plates in my driveway)
Growing up in the ghetto, wasn't no
debt to them somehow
Lawrence of Arabia has got this perfect vision
Gonna sell him down the river
There's no time for him now
I think I'm gonna take
George Washington, Woodrow Wilson
Baton Rouge, louisiana
Texas the Longhorn State
Refraction of light in
The earth's atmosphere
Triceratops, a-e-i
Aw, yeah
That's them old Texas Blues
Come in here, Lee, tell us all about it, boy
I heard a lonely coyote a-howling for his mate (yes)
I took
Turn the beat up a little bit more in here, Bengineer, please!
I guess I'm doing this one by myself
If you can't just be good with being by
to the Roc)
This is the last call for alcohol, for the
(Mr. Rockefeller)
So get your ass up off the wall
The all around the world Digital Underground Pac
hol up
This is the Sound of Revenge
This for all my O G Screw Heads
Rest in Peace to Fat Pat DJ Screw
I'm ma show ya how to work a wood wheel
Chrome
Oh no, there go them Texas boys banging in a fo' do'
Top fell out the drop, crawling on 84's
Think of taking my slab, baby I don't think so
My
no home port painted on her stern
And they say she's like a ghost
Up and down that Texas coast
But you saw him, didn't you Laverne?
Now Daddy
and ride around
I wanna be all on my own
I just wanna be left alone
No nobody call my phone
I got plays I'm in my zone
I just wanna turn up by myself
I just
A white cracker muthafucka that probably voted for him
And no he ain't gonna drop no dollars, but he do drop bombs
R.I.P. Tig' cause he died in the storm
Sometimes it's a car
A certain shade of mystic blue
I think of you and I wonder how on Earth you are
Sometimes just a song
That's playing on my
sixty-two packages of cigarettes. why are you carrying all zees into germany for? what are you doing this for?
I . . . I . . .
How long have you been livin'
choppa on me sing like it's Charlie Wilson (Like Charlie Wilson)
Yeah
Sing like Charlie Wilson
Yeah
Uh, uh no
No, had to jump off the porch, I ain't Craig
posted up behind that glass
Texas what it is, light reflection on my wrist
Looking like a section, of the complexion on my chick
I don't need a click, all
body Benz, you riding big body fo' do'
Fa sho though you know, how that Texas talk
I'm trying to stack my green, I mean fill up my vault
[Chorus:
Know what I'm sayin'
We just some young Texas niggas
Hol' Up
Thugga
We ride Forgies in foreigns
Close 'Lac doors on fours
Forty pointers in
need no love
They gangsta till they see the cannon
I don't give a fuck
Smoke em like the nigga salmon
Walk up and blam em
Coming down from Texas
Bitch
feel like a gynecologist physician,
I'm balling like Wilson, self-made definition,
See no opposition, my own competition, play every position,
Bitch
Way I beat up the cat I'm the meanest
If my pockets Ain blue, they the greenest
I'm so hot damn I feel like phoenix
Burning it. My genes grey
I rise out
and he knew, that was a sign I would not
No warrants when the laws pull up behind, I'ma stop
Princes cuts the size of a window, I'ma wind down my watch
Staying G's for life
Young ballers coming up
Staying high till we die
Staying high till I die with them Texas Boys
We putting it down in the Valley,
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