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letra de swang remix - trae

(feat. pokey, pimp c, slim thug, jim jones)

[fat pat:]
love it mayne – love it mayne
love it mayne – love it mayne
love it mayne – love it mayne
love it mayne – love it mayne

[talking: trae]
yeah this the remix

[chorus: fat pat]
sw-ng and i sw-ng, and i sw-ng to the left
pop – pop my trunk, and yup, yup, yup
sw-ng, sw-ng and i sw-ng, and i sw-ng to the left
pop – pop my trunk, and yup, yup, yup
sw-ng, sw-ng and i sw-ng, and i sw-ng to the left
pop – pop my trunk, and yup, yup, yup
sw-ng, sw-ng and i sw-ng, and i sw-ng to the left
pop – pop my trunk, and yup, yup, yup

[verse 1: big pokey]
these b-tches wanna see a n-gg- roll
five – fifty flossin, leave the tag for the toe
ice cold ac, b-tter scotch guts
hard top benz with the roof popped up
every tooth rocked up, n-gg- sw-ngin with the glock nine
sixty duece c-cked up, bangin at the stop sign
and i’m a p-ss, not my n-gg- hawk dogg – i’m a miss
everytime i think about him when i’m drivin, i’m a just (i’m a just)

[verse 2: pimp c]
i’m a screwed up affliated, strictly rollin red
everytime we hit the parking lot, we turn heads
i’ve been watched by parole – task forcin by the feds
’cause they know i got e’m for ten and they know the game ain’t dead
it’s too late i’m deep up in it, ain’t nothin about me scary
chiefin in the club, tryna find me somethin hairy
pimpin at the bar – smokin on a stoggy
since i came home from the pen seems like everybody knows me

[verse 3: slim thug]
slim thugga, motherf-cker!
the trunk bang with the belts, while i sw-ng to the left
pop my trunk and yup, yup, yup
chrome spokes when i step down the ave in the slab (huh)
pull up to the wash, give the cadillac a bath
my car lookin mirror, peanut b-tter interior
poppin trunks, surround they can’t sound no clearer
they like d-mn, he here that boy thugga shut e’m down
them blue boys shinin’all over h – town

[verse 4: jim jones]
i gotta shout my n-gg-s in houston (aye trae – what up)
they ride old school, and they system in screwin (aye bun b)
i’m from new york so in my city we cruisin (eastside)
them ’06 whips with the glittery jewels – in (mazarati’s)
i don’t go in the club till i get all my goons in (not at all)
them bouncers don’t frisk so we get all our tools in (keep the gats)
and yeah we cop the bottles, get the b-tches to groovin (shake it ma)
and won’t you tell the dj, it’s a dipset intrusion

[verse 5: mike jones]
i’m the king, i’m the mayor of the city – got the game locked down
i roll twelve cars, one with my top down
i be sw-ngin in that candy, they don’t understand me
got my slab complete, watch me pull up on this brandy
i’m sw-ngin in this slab with the peanut b-tter guts
if she hop inside my ride then the b-tch know she gon’f-ck
i ain’t playin with no skeezer, the hoe know i don’t need her
i pull out my visa to tease her, not please her
they see the diamonds shinin – hand on the wood wheel
even though i sold a mill, streets got me hood still

[verse 6: trae]
i still sw-ng to the left, 84’s sittin under tha truth
and these haters watchin my moves, from the way i b-tterflyed the coupe
i’m black over alligator so n-gg-s know that i got it
trunk lift up at the light but my droppa remainin squated
still bangin my screw, doin my thing
see the sun been out on me, but they swear i been in the rain
my sw-ngas poke out so wide like i’m ridin in double lanes
texan wide wheels lookin like they never stoppin mayne – i’m a…

[verse 7: hawk]
i’m a sw-ng, and i sw-ng, and i sw-ng to the left
pop my trunk for fat pat’s death
i would give my last breath if i could bring you back
bring screw back, matter of fact bring the whole crew back
only god can do that so i’m a leave it alone
movin alone, groovin to this soothin song
i’m cruisin along, wishin cory blunt was home

[verse 8: bun b]
well i’m a sw-ng, i’m a sw-ng, i’m a sw-ng to the right
i’m comin down candy on sw-ngas – it’s super tight
when i pull up at the light, at a quarter to midnight
you pull up right – scared to death, gotta call in the life flight
ugk is back on the slab and turnin the wheel
once again the bun and the pimp, the return of the trill
you can love to hate us, or hate to love us – it ain’t a thing
to them underground kingz, we still gon’sw-ng

[verse 9: paul wall]
i put the h up in the air for that a dub k
that fifth wheel, bow down and pray i’m brandy wine over gray
i’m sw-ngin with trae, sprayed by my home boy ed
that third coast custom paint job, got me lookin ready
that swisha house around my neck – johhny dang on my wrist
trunk bang like abn with wood grain on my fist
cadillac by david taylor with retractable roof
sw-ngin and bangin on that screw and throwin boys that duece, it’s paul wall…

[fat pat:]
love it mayne – love it mayne
love it mayne – love it mayne
love it mayne – love it mayne
love it mayne – love it mayne

- trae

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