Bun B - Lone Star lyrics

[Hook] Down South, sittin' low Subs, subs, in my trunk Midwest, pimpin' hoes, twenty-six's on the truck Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho Parking lot pimpin' with the candy painted doors topped Now I'm still flippin' in the 'Caddy sittin' low I told her: Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho [Verse 1: Jon Connor] n***a, I was down South (down South) Sittin' up in the House of Blues, chilling I catch these hoes, I don't catch feelings Yep, real n***a in the building Midwest game so cold, ya'll should have knew that Born and raised in the mitten Thick motherf**er, I knew I had to get it She had three kids, I paid for the sitter Her girl came with her; part-time hater, full-time stripper She had an ex-man, and the ho still bitter Thought I was gonna kiss a** for the a**, how the f** you figure? No, wrong; I ain't gotta do all that My n***a just came with the liquor Shots of Ciroc get your girls on the floor Now she got her a** on the floor right with her Everybody drinkin', everybody faded She ask is it good for the night, you the greatest This how it supposed to go down now, ain't it? Square-a** n***as got the game all tainted Spoiling hoes that don't want a thing Wife the hoes that don't want your ring She run the game, she could coach the team That's why I handle mine how it's supposed to be [Hook] [Verse 2: GLC] Please don't confuse me with these f**ing coos (f**ing coos) Sippin'-a** lames like it's something cool (something cool) You know I'm pullin' up, in something smooth (something smooth) G'd the f** up, first day of school (ism) (first day of school) Aw, sh**, your b**h is so promiscuous (damn) (promiscuous) She a runner, you should see the sh** she did (damn) (sh** she did) I ain't lay up with her, I just hit and slid (never) (hit and slid) I can't do that sh**, I'm a pimp, you dig? (I'm a pimp, you dig?) Midwest mackin', as it manifest (manifest) Cathedral-fied ism, nothing less (nothing less) Big breasts feel so good all on my chest (on my chest) I'm an addict for this p**y, yes I must confess [Hook] Down South, sittin' low Subs, subs, in my trunk Midwest, pimpin' hoes, twenty-six's on the truck Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho Parking lot pimpin' with the candy painted doors topped Now I'm still flippin' in the 'Caddy sittin' low I told her: Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho [Verse 3: Bun B] Yeah, you know I'm a lone star, and my homie's that Lone Star Where them gangstas is known for having they own 'Dro, and they own bar Baddest b**hes that's ballin' out with they own crib, and they own car And when it come down to Texas, man there ain't too many places that's on par Candy painted slab, rollin' up and down the ave See them jazzy, yellow bras, with that big old a** to grab We cuttin' corners, poppin' trunks, and we swangin', bustin' Sweets down As we burn them Swishers up, and burn these [?] streets down Walking tall in my neighborhood, and I'm known for puttin' my feet down Frontin' on a trill n***a, man guaranteed you gon' catch a beat-down Your girl wanna swallow my meat down, and I'm inclined to let her Trill O.G. about the cheddar, and can't no n***a do it any better Hold up, man [Hook] [Outro: GLC] Know what I'm talking 'bout? The motherf**in' confession of a motherf**in' true bonafide, mackin' blessing Know what I'm talking 'bout? Rotating with my n***a Jon Connor, and we always seem to amaze and astonish Know what I'm talking 'bout? Motherf**in' Ism is the motherf**in' streets, rotating with my true playa partner by the name of Bun B Know what I'm talking 'bout? Cathedral to the congregation Know what I'm talking 'bout? No more strangulation, raise your motherf**in' pimping up and join this motherf**in' Ism nation Divorce the bullsh**, marry the motherf**in' Ism Church!