[talking]
|
Southsive for live, we balling in the mix
|
It's going down H-Town for real, pull it out
|
Let em know, we bout to steal the show
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Pull up on 4's, kick down the do, what
|
|
[Chorus: Z-Ro]
|
Cause I'ma hold it down, and represent H-Town
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They said we wouldn't make it, swore it wasn't going down
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But I'ma show em now, that we about to clown
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Regulate for Texas state, baby I'ma hold it down yay-yay
|
|
[Lil' O]
|
Hey I'm young dumb full of cum, icy and numb
|
Block bleeder balla, pass the great pupon
|
My dress code stay thoed, they be like where you from
|
I tell em Third Coast Texas race, Houston
|
And I stop the piece, when my glocks release
|
Catch me on the Southwest, moving flocks of geese
|
Talking down on my city, you'll get rocked to sleep
|
Cause I keep a AK, ready to chop the streets
|
And I don't need no friends, but I need those ends
|
I'm trying to get the six double zero Benz
|
You try to stop that, it'll be your end
|
We bar none boys, we don't see no men
|
And we fear no coward, get money and the power
|
Reign in the states, with the flakes and the flower
|
Hit clubs on Dubs, standing out like a tower
|
Hop out in bitches shoes, leaving niggas sour, what
|
|
[Chorus: Z-Ro]
|
|
[BFK]
|
I'm a habitual hard knocker, and a menace as well
|
Blood thirsty like rotweilers, in the kitchen with scales
|
Chickens and mail, got us dodging prison and jail
|
Slipping your nail, my niggas off of timid and frail
|
Like toxic, come up with smells my aroma is stronger
|
Man water corona, stop on cobonas
|
We know the ray corners, like we the F-E-D's
|
Best believe when we squeeze, niggas chests gon bleed
|
Yes indeed, no doubt we bout to rest emcees
|
Baller naming as the greatest, full breaded pedigree
|
Lifestyle and profile, living big celebrity
|
Never push inside my pride or, integrity
|
My people deep as a river, bring it on we can rumble
|
Turning cowards over like fumbles, or my homies the jungle
|
Street smart and lion hearted, what I started I finish
|
We provoke it and cause commotion, by the time we done hit it
|
|
[Chorus: Z-Ro]
|
|
[BFK]
|
I'ma compose when paper fold, and my attitude's cocky
|
And dodging and breaking bones pockets, leaving your posse
|
Sluggish and sloppy, smoking like a broken solloppe
|
I shake fades and break bread, while I'm blowing on broccoli
|
My block bleeding blood hounds, stay down like flat tires
|
Convicted and pass bond, we glisten like selfox
|
Paper rock path find, ain't no sleeping's the motto
|
Dehydrated for our dollas, kottenmouth and can't swallow
|
We Dirty Third desperadoes, dumping ashes on bitches
|
Mashing on snitches, and pussy glasses matching my bridges
|
Slagging and slipping, never in my macking and pimping
|
I game spit your main bitch, never shackle a pigeon
|
My teeth glisten while they greeting, when I'm bending in women
|
I'm spinning that pimping, gangsta limping, off of vision and gripping
|
Adrenaline dripping when I'm pumping, with a passion for stacking
|
Stanking like walts I catch em, ?charlie hustle in mansions?
|
|
[Chorus: Z-Ro]
|
|
[Z-Ro: in background]
|
Yay-ay [x13]
|
|
[talking]
|
Dedicated to the streets of H-Town Texas
|
The whole Dirty Third, everybody that held a playa down
|
When it wasn't going down, you know I'm saying
|
Much love from the Fat Rat With The Cheeze, Lil' O
|
BFK, Z-Ro, 89 hundred brat
|
|
-----------------
|
Hold It Down
|
| Lil' O |
