Swing down, sweet chariots let me ride

Coming down slow, on the damn Southside

Swanging on 4's, slamming on do's

Pimping your hoes, that's the way it goes





It's the big sugar daddy, bailing none other

Coming down with Blount, in the red and peanut butter

Naw I didn't stutter, popping trunks surround

Coming down slow, watch a playa what clown

On the Boulevard, yeah my swangas we'll mob

I'm coming down the Boulevard, swanging on 'em hard

Me and C.B., got the T.V. on

Got my glock in my lap, riding till dawn

Man it's on, when we hit the parking lot

Pop trunk red neon, it don't stop

Watching hoes bop, cause we on that glass

C.B. crawling, yeah I got on my mask

With my Sacci locs, ready to let my pistol smoke

Cause up in the C, and I'm gone off that dope

Leaning on the drank, so what you think

I got my hand on my glock, plus I got my shank









I swang on dots, floss on chops

Hit the scene heat it up, like a boiling crock pot

Dipping so low, in the Jag cockpit

Got my paws frostbit, with six screens lit

Feeling like the shit, mobbing on twin Z's

Pat and Blount in the Lac, I'm in the J-A-G

Sipping a skeet taste, with a cannon on my waste

Iceberg to the drawas, putting it all in your face

Shocking and body rocking, swanging side to side

Crawling wide body, with Palomino inside

Tell I'm a 84 glider, mono-block glider

Catch me and 3 in the Pathfinder, with diamonds that'll blind you

Smoking on sticky, sipping lean in my machine

Through the parking lot crawling, hogging dogging the scene

With my mug on mean, working sixteen

Swanging on you boys, fulfilling ghetto dreams









Lumilean to Eddies, money over bop hoes

My Diablo, and see six zeros

Niggaz sturn like 84's, and switch like kids

Gotta move around, cause they'll put it in yo ur ears

Still sipping but no beer, checking up my styrofoam

In H-Town Texas, my home sweet home

The Governor and Corleone, P-A-T resurrected

Vote for Mr. 3-2, to be reelected

We mafia connected, with the streets on lock

Entertaining my peoples, on the fifty foot yacht

I pull a big body out to, bending corners turning heads

From the Boulevard MLK, to the blocks of Homestead

Flossing and flipping turning, tipping so low

Beating the trunk, and dropping the top real slow

Letting the world feel it, realest from the Gulf Coast

We swang down up on the block, body rock with my folks