E.S.G. - We Still Tippin' (Featuring Bun B) | Текст песни

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• E.S.G.
• We Still Tippin' (Featuring Bun B)

[Hook]
We still tipping, we talk different
We ain't tripping, we be flipping chickens
Money to the ceiling, another quarter million
Down South, that's how we living

[E.S.G.]
Didn't vote for Bush, we smoke on kush
Say you need a bird, it's three behind my granny bush
Pain job they look like fruits, candy red orange green and blue
Colored stones all in our mouth, yeah do me a favor quit hating on the South
When we talk say what it do, it's going down already
Independent got the Bentley got the Lac, got the Benz got the old school drop top Cheve
You know we stay connected, hit the South and then we stretch it
These boys ain't understanding, I could turn Drew Brees to a Peyton Manning
Times eighteen that's twenty some, need a real world course like Larry Johnson
Be highway MVP that'll toe tag ride for me, like LaDainian Tomlinson
We be getting this cake, invest it in real estate
Ain't worried bout the boys trying to hate, gotta keep my eyes on these interest rates
E.S.G. and my dog Bun B, you know I'm S.U.C.
Right now gotta hold it down, for the Southside streets I'm a real O.G.
You know we getting this bread, my hogs ain't never scared
Matter fact won't you tell the world, that hip-hip down here naw she ain't dead huuuh

[Hook]

[Bun B]
Grain gripping lane switching, trunk popping and banging
Long starter clutch city, Southside we be swanging
Hanging arms out the window, we chunking the deuce
I got the dro and the 'rillo, and a cup of that juice
And man they both purped up, like party a grape eight
I'm sitting on the stitching tuck, jamming my grey tape
That Million Dollar Hands, or A Million Dollars Later
You don't know your tape titles, homeboy you's a hater
Boys know we stacking green, like we be cutting grass
Try to short stop on my scene, I'ma hurt your nothing ass
Y'all be wanting to play the games, like I got a quarter slot
Run up on the trill, and we gon' see if you hard or not
That Everyday Street Gangsta, that's E-S to the G
That Underground King, that's B-U-N to the B
And it ain't hard to see, so open your eyes
And lay your peepers on these players, it'll be no surprise for real

(*scratching*)

[Hook]

[E.S.G.]
We sip on lean, muddy purple juice
Hit the club on chrome, then we switch to Patron or the Grey Goose
Chunk up the deuce, better tie your boots
Call on the hood being up to no good, see the boys down here won't call no troops
Tell the world that I'm the truth, my flow sick as the flu
Down South turn a shotgun house, to a million dollar what chicken coupe
Look good when I sit in a Coupe, I'm talking Benz baby
Hustle pimping that's Russell Simmons, Master P, Lil' J or Baby
Rap game it ain't gravy, some say the South winning
Major labels scared to sign a O.G. like me, so I gotta do it independent
A million sold homie, check my soundscan
Never hear me screaming out you do the superman, cause we don't dance

(*scratching*)

[Hook]

Down South, that's how we living huh

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