| What’s up baby, Paul Wall
|
| I’m Slow, Loud And Bangin' baby
|
| Color Changin' Click-Clack two in your back
|
| Chamillionaire.com, I’m just saying though
|
| We ain’t even much tripping on these females
|
| Like that you know I’m saying, these honey dips
|
| We ain’t loving these dips
|
| Naw we loving our cars, you know I’m taln' bout
|
| We loving our slabs, we treating our slabs
|
| Like they our gals, you feel me
|
| But uh, we gon let this music speak for itself
|
| You know I’m tal’n bout, it’s gon explain it
|
| What’s up Trae, break em off
|
| See my slab is all I got, and it won’t never change
|
| You can see me top down on the block, bobbing and weaving through lanes
|
| With the Color Changin' Click, so sick with a trunk banging
|
| Paint staining leaving the block wet, just like as if it was raining
|
| I ain’t the one to be capping cat, but my slab be off the chain
|
| Four T.V.'s and a PS3, tinted up high when I swang
|
| Maabing in the old school, but I’m looking so playa
|
| With a 4−4 cocked under my seat, cause I’m ready for haters
|
| With wood all on my do’s, 20's shining like I was smiling
|
| Profiling like I’m a G, and a G is what I’ma be
|
| I’m on dubs with my drop top, with a trunk popped
|
| On a bop that wanna be jocking, my balling’ll never stop
|
| When I pull up to the red light, people breaking they neck
|
| Cause everybody rub a neck, and like I got in a wreck
|
| I’m in a slab Jimmy slab, so I guess I should mention
|
| That my purple people eater’s, the center of attention
|
| My car’s kinda similar, to the leaves in Autumn
|
| Cause the paint changing colors, and the T.V.'s falling
|
| I’m in a foreign BMW, with the chrome all shimmering
|
| The INS harass me, cause my car’s an immigrant
|
| My gray goose Mercedes, got a green card as well
|
| With lap top T.V. screens, is sponsored by Dell
|
| Chamillionaire.com satellite, I’m logged on when I drop
|
| Posting messages until I arrive, I love my slab baby
|
| See my slab, is all I haaave
|
| Candy paint dripping, buck on leather
|
| T.V.'s shining, swinging on glaaass
|
| Top fell back, in sunny weather
|
| Watching haters watch, as I fly paaass
|
| In a old school, that floats like a feather
|
| Roll slow up the block, and crawling my slaaab
|
| Now they all know, we stacking our cheddar
|
| I’m addicted to balling, my screens steady be falling
|
| Dedicated to being playa, so them boppers be calling
|
| And loving the way I swang, banging and gripping grain
|
| Riding the boulevard, till the neighbors start to complain
|
| Balling is a habit, and I can’t stop if I wanted
|
| I pop the trunk clicking screens, so my face’ll be on it
|
| I tried to stop and catch a bop, but my rims kept going
|
| I’m crawling two miles per hour, so everybody be blowing
|
| I’m 17 diamonds gleam, harder than Mr. Clean
|
| Shining showing reflection, so niggas think it’s a dream
|
| I’m a Southside S.L.A.B. |
| nigga, representing it wreckless
|
| With plates under my slab, that read «don't fuck with Texas»
|
| My seats recline in my slab, that’s all I have fuck a lady
|
| Cause I’m infatuated with droppers, and bubble eyes on Mercedes
|
| Candy coated paint when I floss in the winter, or summer time
|
| Still I be slip and sliding on buck, while my trunk stay on incline
|
| I shine and I grind daily, bopping hoes wanna date me and rape me
|
| But a nigga be dismissing 20 of em, my slab lady
|
| Lately a nigga been in a daze, thinking bout the wood on my dash
|
| So I commits to swing and bang beat up blocks, with my mind focused on cash
|
| Won’t crash holding my wood grain, Hiram-Clarke repping my hood mayn
|
| Lil B repping S.L.A.B., Slow Loud and yes a nigga do bang
|
| In a slab that’s all I have, I’m still balling out of control
|
| Sitting low crawl slow in a fo' do', as I drop my top screens unfold
|
| (*talking*)
|
| For real, know I’m tal’n bout
|
| We love our slabs, more than these hoes
|
| We put our money into our slabs, not these hoes
|
| It’s pimping, you know I’m saying, but shit
|
| It’s plain to see, I love to take the top off my bitch
|
| Raise they ass up and wave it on you hoes
|
| Slow, Loud And Bangin' style, you feel me
|
| I know y’all feel me |