Baby Bash - City of Dank lyrics

(Baby Beesh) It's your boy, Baby beesherelli mane La Velvet clika Representin' that yay area dogg Down South mane, Houston, Texas mane, with my smokin' cousin (SPM) Mister S-P baby (Baby Beesh) S-P-M baby boy, South Park Mexican With my nephew, young Happy P Man on the track, one love (SPM) One time for that Ikie (Baby Beesh) Ikeman my boy, representin' that 7-1-3 clique mane Houston, Texas mane We fixin' to show you how we get down mane, check it out Chorus (Baby Beesh & Ikeman): (Baby Beesh) Where I come from, the city of dank Where n***as shoot hop, snort, and smoke crank Where anything's possible and nothin' fa sho High off Khadafi mixed with blow (Ikeman) Well I come from, the city of drank Where n***as drop tar, ride and drip paint Grip the grain, switch the lane Swingin' on them thangs Got the trunk with the bang cuz the South on there stayin' First Verse (Baby Beesh): Some of you G's can't help it We love our money green like the Boston Celtics They felt it cuz every saucy Chicano's down with Latino Velvet Don't get it twisted, we got some more in case you missed it Straight from the Buh-ay, where them n***as keep it playeristic Now every hour, a coward is devoured Some perkin', off the powder, some slangin' go mental flowers Smokin' cavys in the Navi, or the four door fleetwood caddy Geekin', while we tweekin' or smellin' the puporalli Valley jokers what we ran with And them haters just can't stand it They frantic cuz us hispanics Gigantic like the Titanic n***a Seven seas, I'm tryin' to cop seven keys All folks with the 2-0-9's got whole ones for eleven G's So I ain't pa**in' Baby Beesh all about that scrilla scratchin' Hooked up with the Ikeman now we robbin' in Guerilla fashion Eighteen with a bullet, we bumpin' totally insane I'd like to praise the Mac God for showin' me the game Chorus Second Verse (Ike Man): Off the top, all us realas double R we goin' hard Down South we hit the bar, smokin' 'dro up in the guards Foreign car we send low, bout my fetty and the dough For those that don't know it's three and a quarter for the bow Lime green lil' apartment, kind that make you wanna rhyme But oh, dollar shine, it takes time to make 'em blind I'm on the grind to go and get I got my gangsta ready to spit I-K-E about my digits Feds want me cuz I did it I done flipped it into green, with my cousin' lil' beam We be hoggin' up the scene with our mugs on mean 7-1-3, we coldest, from the jump they can't hold us Got the bricks, got the boulders, let the World know it's over I-K-E and S-P-M, and that Mexican Baby Beesh Down to make major cash from the bay to seven one tre That's how we do it like some G's Makin' money from these ki's Every block we touch bleeds About to put this game on freeze Chorus Third Verse (SPM): Cognac sipper, born to crack flipper Jugglin' hoes like my boy Jack Tripper Gla** slippers, on my smoke ray Lac I was broke way back, walkin' down a train track Mary Jane sacks gave my a** a brain lapse Insane raps ridin' with strange cats Plain gats, nothin' special but do the job Rollin' 'round tryin' to find someone new to rob A lot of what you smoke, a lot of what you snort Playin' crack bars seemed to be my favorite sport My only dance floor was the hot corner store Beat 'em down, hol' 'em up, that boy don't want 'em no more Chest cracker, neck snapper, don't make the Mex act a Muthaf**in' fool on the best actor Lead blaster, I hope it hits you where it has to It's the S-P-M sippin' syrup mixed with Shasta Chorus