Testo Uh Huh - Trae Tha Truth
Testo della canzone Uh Huh (Trae Tha Truth), tratta dall'album Still Tippin 1.5
I'm focused on fetti, candy convertible Chevy
Call me petty, you owe me, I'm coming to edit
I'm coming to set it, and nigga I said it
Believe that fake shit if you want, them niggas ain't pathetic
I'm smoking Jimmy Gee so you know the weed fire
I got a crib in the A that's big as Greenbrier
Ain't no furniture in it, just tees and Levi's
Couple dollars and them clips to the gringas
I'm talking more weed and I'm feeling bigger now
I'm talking M's, nigga, put them little figures down
One time for Alpha Omega, we are alpha betters
And we out for cheddar, until we out forever
Uh huh, yes sir, it's the G-Mix
Alpha Omega run the streets, what it be bitch?
Cause you faking with it, and I know it
But the time has come, you gon' have to show it
I fuck with real goons and OG's
You fuck with straight lames and wannabes
I got the Chevy pushing in the fast lane
Smoking Obama, laughing at John McCain
Thinking like Malcolm while I exit ML King
I gotta get mines and that's by any means
I know the haters thinking, "What the fuck could this be?"
Alpha Omega, Rick Ross, Bun B and T.I.P
Ain't another putting on like me
I can buy the bar seven days out the week
We getting money, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh
Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, yes sir
It's the underground king and I
Be coming down, I'm singing my
New song, my coupe long
Crack the window, that shit is too strong
You wrong and I'm right
But you gon' understand that with hindsight
Go get your mind right and level off
I'm sub-woofer hard, boy you treble soft
Go get your boss, go get your chief
Go get your OG and tell him bring his beef
I got the grill, I got the gas
He not the trill, I will drop his ass
Ain't another putting on like me
I can buy the bar seven days out the week
We getting money, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh
Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, yes sir
Stay on automatic, I ain't talking 'bout the gas
Well known, shorty, fashion fantastic, I'm spazzing
California mansion, poolside lamping
But still run zone 1, shorty, what's happening?
Rappers way average and shorty stay swagging
Death before dishonor, hate hater with a passion
Record drop straight to the top, no zig-zagging
Talking 'bout I'm falling off, I'm laughing, imagine
I'm still getting money 'til the point it isn't funny
Shut broke niggas up when I holla 'bout a hundred
Quarter mil' on me, homie want it, let's run it
Don't need the dough, trust me, hustling just a rush for me
No dispute, who you fooling? The best to ever do it
A slice of how you like it, still I'm in the top two and
I'm on the top of that list, ask anybody that's
The coldest on the mic, flowing with a Southern accent
Credits
Writer(s): Demario Antionne Hammonds
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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