How We Swang Lyrics
album: Track 11 in album Screwed Up Movement
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How We Swang" [Hook:] We riding Cheves and them Lacs, on them thangs Down Souh, that's how them boys do it mayn Get out of line, them thangs rain Paint change, everytime we switching lanes (from the back-back, to the front and to the side In the Lac-Lac with a blunt, now where the light From the back-back, to the front and to the side In the Lac-Lac with a blunt, now where the light) [E.S.G.:] I'm back in my hood, we gripping wood we call it grain It's the man who wrote "Wanna be a Baller", and made you "Swang & Bang" Yup E.S.G. you know my name, forty G's of in my chain My rap sheet before the rap game, I had ki's off in my Range My homie left me hanging, yup he signed with Pharrell That ain't stopping shit, round here we getting this mail For my homies in jail, like Beanie Sigel and Young Pimp Come back home for black chrome, on a 300 M Dodge Magnum station wagon, I done told ya son I'm like Pac, Big and Pun all rolled in one Yup real O.G. I been that G, still got T.V.'s in m
y seats Ice the size of Chris Rock teeth, heat the size of Yao Ming feet You can call me Shaq, the way they threw me in the cross Now my team's on top, you can't make the playoffs Yup break boys off my trunk popping, baller blocking ain't money stopping Mess with me gon R.I.P., like O.D.B. or Johnny Cochran [Hook] [E.S.G.:] Not Mike Jones I'm still tipping, ain't no room for Robin Givens Need a chick that's bout her bidness, like Kimora Lee Simons Baby this Baby Phat, baby this baby that Hot boy like Weezy, but I got Baby stacks Damon Dash cash, so mo' yay we gotta flip Till my bank account swoll up, like Jay-Z bottom lip Yeah we thugging in this bitch, steady busting at my foes Got that Ruben Studdard money, it be busting out my clothes Standing tall as light poles, or a statue in the park I'm the wizard tin man, I'm here to give you boys some heart Down here we spit it for real, icicles in my grill Candy green say I'm deuce, look like a pickle on wheels No American idols round here no Paula, Randy or Sim
on Just a old school Impala, rolling candy shining If you grinding keep grinding, cause ain't nothing in life for free I'ma be a G-A-N-G-S-T-A, till the day I D-I-E g'eah [Hook] [E.S.G.:] What you know bout groupie freaks, Gucci shoes and Gucci seats Bout my ends like Pimpin' Ken, ghetto streets to executive suites Ashton Mars and EXT's, platinum screens and DVD's 28's and 23's, six T.V.'s in the SUV S.U.C. now I bet you E, spitting nothing but hits for boys Bring a role of toilet paper (why), cause I'm shitting on boys Underground bully, I ain't scared to smash it to ya This year I'm punking rappers, you can call me Ashton Kutcher Blades chopping like a butcher, they can't stand me now Can't be like 50 Cent new album, and let my fan's down This for my Vice Lord GD's, Bloods, Crips, Latin Kings Blacks, whites, Asians, everybody in between Yeah that chopper to chop ya, srop toppers can't stop us Crooked coppers think they got us, so they watch us with binoculars Bottle popping trunk knocking, stopping traff
ic in the Lac Cause I got one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight, 15's in the back g'eah [Hook]