|
Z-Ro - Steady Ballin lyrics
(*talking*) It's going down, straight up I'm steady balling, shot calling I'm clowning em baby [Hook] Steady balling, tonight We gon ride while we sipping and smoking Steady balling, outta control We gon swang, with the trunk open glowing [Z-Ro] Nothing but things I'm seeing, nigga be chasing divid-ends Pimping the pen, and I gotta keep a thermostat on my skin And catch a cold, with the motherfucking ice I'm in Big bubble lenses, at the front of the car We in the club, running up a fat run at the bar Puffing plex, anybody get a punch to the jaw No soda water, got a pint doing it raw And everyday, I put new shoes on my feet Sugar brown ladies or red bones on my meat I'ma skip with the rub or not, on my sheets And ride with a big fo'-five, on my seat Pulling out the yard, as I drop the top Ready for the jackers, still gon cock the glock Pulling up at the club, everybody still show love But I'm still not gonna stop for bops But I'ma stop for the drank, man po' me up Hoping to nine seven point nine, blow me up But these fellas be in it for the competition Seem like, everybody wanna show me up But nigga fuck the fame, cause I want the change Like Lil' James, leaving stains on niggaz brain I smoke and I lean, but still I maintain balling mayn [Hook] [H.A.W.K.] When the top down, I'ma drop the rest On 8-3's, and bumper kit Candy paint, looking wet to spit Piece on my neck, read Screwed Up Click Album silver, bubble head lights Trunk gon knock, like lights of fire At the intersection, I run the red lights All my jewelry, is draped in ice Crazy chain, piece and medallion Pass the seat, or yellow stallion Pretty brown eyes, and thick thighs Half Chinese, mixed with Italian Paid for, everything cash My rear view, is in my dash Got a pop spot, to hide my stash Hide my trunk, see the baby gash Mild dog, is super meals Drop my top, feel the atmosphere Tweety singing, loud and clear In my cup, is Belvedere Pockets full, of big face bills Three story pad, in Beverly Hills So much ice, you get the chills In the studio, I shred the reals [Z-Ro] Man no more struggling we bubbling, collecting with Breadwood White golf against the click, we drop bullets and I'm ahead them We ride on top of the ridge, like a wide stallion Bezeltine around me neck, with the diamond medallion [Hook] [Z-Ro] Barley moving on swangas, and knocking off the side rolling Gotta give it up to the Fat Pat, nigga cause we Southside holding Rolling in luxury cars, sipping on bar, talking on cellulars Receiving messages from Mars, nothing but rap stars Anybody wanna fuck with us, fuck around and get flipped up and zipped up In a six foot ziploc, cause I got a glock in my right hand And I'ma flip, when I can't even act like he wanna trip I said it like that and I'll say it again, matter fact push record and play it again With a bop digger then, Trae and Den in a Benz And accepting all the dope trafficing Got the dope in the trunk, and we backing in So much money, gotta back track my ends I got the glut opium, black cause I'm African American, Guerilla Maab gon shine for life But our motherfuckers, are dull like a butter knife I put it on my balls and on my life, Z-Ro never been shife Cat don't come around me, just let me ball If I fall off my note, then let me fall Needed help from God, did he get my call Pulling out the lot, and he let me crawl Like Mafio, by the year two triple O I'ma come down, in a six double O With green flow, mats on the flo' Candy paint on my do', it's bout for the hook and it go [Hook - 2x] |
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Last added lyrics |
|---|
 Time on Earth by Crowded House |
 It Ain't What U Wear It's How U Play It by Another Bad Creation |
 Getaway by Reef |
 Ray Ray by Raphael Saadiq |
 Jimmy Roses by Jimmy Roses |
