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Jim Jones » Pour Wax
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	(Jim Jones:) You're reign on the top, short like Leprechauns I came through in drops, Porches and heavy charms I came from the block, the slums wit ex-con's And we aimin' them glocks of course ready to bomb Now I done seen a Custy' cop four pies of the same gear Also seen a nigga cop four rides in the same year This concrete jungle, no trees to swing from This weed and gettin drunk and heaters gettin dumped Hit the highway nigga ki's up in the trunk Back up in the city with some skeezas in the trunk I ain't a player but I do my dirt dog Drop top 'Cedes better move when it merk off It got me swingin to the left lane Plus a nigga caughin 'cause the haze give me chest pain Yes motha fucka the boys is back With my vest and I'm tucked up with my boys in back (Chorus: Jim Jones) You don't want it with them niggaz While you niggaz steady bitching my niggaz gettin' richer You mad 'cause we ballin' Bet you mad 'cause we scorin If he get out of line put his punk ass in a coffin Nigga we a ragime, Byrdgang we the truth Keep a foriegn sedan or swirvin' in the coupe Oakwood in the interior, swade on the roof Now shoot, {Bang, Bang} shoot {Bang, Bang} (Hell Rell:) Aw man Hell Rell, he on the same bullshit agiain Same black hoody{Yup}, same fo' fifth again Bithes stopped likin' me but now they on my dick again Seen me in the Ashton with my glistinin' Yea I'm bustin off the chrome Yea I'm 'bout to off your dome Kill the mother and the father, kids go to foster homes Yea I like to floss the chrome, nigga leave the boss alone See my neck and my wrist, I'm rockin' what it costs for homes Homie they don't call me ruger for nothing Back out on theese bitch niggaz get that ruger to dumpin' Dont run up on me nigga you know I stay with it G'd up from the beef and brock's to the Oakland A's fitted That's the bottom to the top, it's in the bottom of the pot I got it white, I got it tan, it's either you copin' or you not Nigga jets is pullin' off and you stuck in the current D.I.P., B.G., fuck what you heard (Chorus) (Jim Jones:) We all strapped in the ride, I ain't talkin' like the elderly Yac'ed when we drive like a rollin fuckin' felony Trapped to survive, get the bucks, sell them ki's It's hard to get by that's why we puff hell'a'weed But if this high don't come down I feal the world spinnin' like the sky gon' come down I need air top of the ride gon' come down And I swear I stay fly when I jump out Jewled up in ice like what that dude like Spider four thirty with the blue'ish lights Got the coupe bright, still shoot dice For my niggaz on the east side this is true life (Chorus)
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