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letra de 24 inches woodgrain grippin - dirty (us)

[chorus]
i put 24 inches on the brougham
call my baddest b-tch and tell her daddy comin’ home
pull up at the light and them thangs keep spinnin’
i’m bustin’ down a philly, finna fill it with a 20
that liquor got me swervin’, e&j is what we sippin’
just pulled it out the shop, so that paint still drippin’
got that thang flip-flop, so the flop keep flippin’
keep that .45 c-ck when i’m woodgrain grippin’

[verse 1: big pimp]
i woke up friday morning, right before i washed my -ss
my n-gga keke called me, told me “boy, come get your lac”
i’m happy as h-ll cause i been waitin’ for the call
he told me that he sprayed it last night with stone wall
“you got 31 flavors, and boy you need to see’em
but you need you some rims, so meet me down at emmet neil’s
and pimp while you thinkin’, i’mma tell you how to k!ll her
take off them gary payton’s and sit that b-tch on andre miller’s”
i call up lakiera, that’s my main thoroughbred
cause right ‘fore i hit her, i get some flame-thorough-head
now when she suck it, she don’t play when she catch it
could it be i run with j and scarface down in texas?
but i’m down in alabama where the ballers love flexin’
keep my .45 c-cked just in case i feel threatened
i pulled up at the light and them hoes almost fainted
i hear ’em screamin’ out, hollerin’ “keke must’a painted it”
yeah, yeah

[verse 2: g-stacka]
i’m choppin’ down your block in a big body brougham
candy flip-flop, 24 inch chrome
spinnin’ like four windmills, enough to give off wind chills
and all this dro smoke is startin’ to fog up my windshield
i’m sittin’ more high than four pills, stacked on top of four hills
and if i sip ’bout four beers, i’ll need four blunts to straight k!ll
i’ll show you how that b-ss feel, four fifteens off in the rear
beatin’ so hard off in your ear, when you get out you can hardly hear
mix e&j with belvedere, so my mind ain’t never clear
my .45 been with me so godd-mn long feel like my souvenir
you wanna know what’s truly real? how many times my candy flip
the sun make my paint look like a fruity bag of m&m’s
hoes love the way it drip, so they holla “let me ride”
so it’s me and pimp with ’bout twenty-four hoes inside
every night takin’ flight, in my fleetwood full of hood freaks
and if that thang is candy paint, it must got sprayed my keke

[verse 3: g-stacka and big pimp]
we push caddies with gold spokes, vogues with mo-mo
they sit high, they sit low, 20’s and 24’s
we got hoes that dyk- hoes, suck d-ck, and snort blow
we got n-ggas that smoke dro, push bricks, and elbows
thirty-one clear coats drip wet like mop ‘n glow
spinners that chop fast, spinners that chop slow
gators of all soles, furs, and perm fros
we ride with .44’s that’s tucked off in our clothes

- dirty us

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