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Pour Wax (Ft. Hell Rell)

Yeah, you pour wax on the table, uh huh, and you set it on fire

Uh, yeah, you know

This that dope boy shit, nigga

Ya smell me, fuck wit yaYour reign on the top, short like leprechauns

I came through in drops, Porches and heavy charms

And I came from the block, was flawless with ex-cons

And we aimin' them glocks, of course, ready to bombNow I done seen a custy cop four pies of the same gear

I also seen a nigga cop four rides in the same year

The concrete jungle, no trees to swing from

This weed and gettin' drunk and heaters gettin' dumpedOr hit the highway, nigga, key's up in the trunk

Back up in the city with some skeezers in the trunk

I ain't a player but I do my dirt, dawg

Drop top 'Cedes better move when it murk offI got it swayin' to the left lane

Plus a nigga coughin' 'cause the haze give me chest pain

Yes, mothafucka, the boys are back with my vest

And I'm tucked up with my boys in back, fuckaYou don't want it with them niggas

While you haters steady bitchin', my niggas gettin' richer

Bet you're mad 'cause we ballin', bet you're mad 'cause we scorin'

If he get outta line, put his punk ass in the coffinNigga, we the regime, Byrdgang, we the truth

Even four in sedan, I'm swervin' in the coupe

Oak wood in interior, suede on the roof

Now shoot back, now shoot backAh man, Hell Rell, he on the same bullshit again

Same black hoodie, ya same fo' fifth again

Bitches stop likin' me but now they on my dick again

See me in that Aston with my chain glistenin'Yeah, I'm bustin' off the chrome, yeah, I'm 'bout to off your dome

Kill a mother and a father, kids go to foster homes

Yeah, I like to floss the chrome, nigga, leave the boss alone

See my neck and my wrist, I'm rockin' with a cost for homesHomie, they don't call me Ruger for nothin'

Back out on these bitch niggas, get that Ruger to dumpin'

So don't run up on me, nigga, you know I stay with it

G'd up from my beef and brocks, to the Oakland A's, fittedThat's the bottom to the top, you seen the bottom of the pot

I got it white, I got it tan, it's either you coppin' or you not

Nigga, jets is pullin' off and you stuck on the curb

D I P, be G, fuck what you heardYou don't want it with them niggas

While you haters steady bitchin', my niggas gettin' richer

Bet you're mad 'cause we ballin', bet you're mad 'cause we scorin'

If he get outta line, put his punk ass in the coffinNigga, we the regime, Byrdgang, we the truth

Even four in sedan, I'm swervin' in the coupe

Oak wood in interior, suede on the roof

Now shoot back, now shoot backWe all strapped in the ride, I ain't talkin' like the elderly

Yak when we drive, like we rollin' fuckin' felony

Trap to survive, get the buck, sellin' keys, it's hard to get by

That's why we puff hella weedBut if this high don't come down

I feel the walls 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 outJewled up in ice, that bent that dude like

Spyder 430 with the bluish lights

Got the coupe, bright, but we still shoot dice

For my niggas on the Eastside, this is true lifeYou don't want it with them niggas

While you haters steady bitchin', my niggas gettin' richer

Bet you're mad 'cause we ballin', bet you're mad 'cause we scorin'

If he get outta line, put his punk ass in the coffinNigga, we the regime, Byrdgang, we the truth

Even four in sedan, I'm swervin' in the coupe

Oak wood in interior, suede on the roof

Now shoot back, now shoot back

Songwriters

JONES, JOSEPH / MOHAMMED, DURELLPublished by

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.

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