Lone Star - GLC, Bun B, Jon Connor

Down South, sittin' low

Subs, subs, in my trunk

Midwest, pimpin' hoes, twenty-six's on the truck

Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho

Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho

Parking lot pimpin' with the candy painted doors topped

Now I’m still flippin' in the 'Caddy sittin' low

I told her: Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho

Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho

Nigga, I was down South (down South)

Sittin' up in the House of Blues, chilling

I catch these hoes, I don’t catch feelings

Yep, real nigga in the building

Midwest game so cold, ya’ll should have knew that

Born and raised in the mitten

Thick motherfucker, I knew I had to get it

She had three kids, I paid for the sitter

Her girl came with her;

part-time hater, full-time stripper

She had an ex-man, and the ho still bitter

Thought I was gonna kiss ass for the ass, how the fuck you figure?

No, wrong;

I ain’t gotta do all that

My nigga just came with the liquor

Shots of Ciroc get your girls on the floor

Now she got her ass on the floor right with her

Everybody drinkin', everybody faded

She ask is it good for the night, you the greatest

This how it supposed to go down now, ain’t it?

Square-ass niggas got the game all tainted

Spoiling hoes that don’t want a thing

Wife the hoes that don’t want your ring

She run the game, she could coach the team

That’s why I handle mine how it’s supposed to be

Please don’t confuse me with these fucking coos (fucking coos)

Sippin'-ass lames like it’s something cool (something cool)

You know I’m pullin' up, in something smooth (something smooth)

G’d the fuck up, first day of school (ism) (first day of school)

Aw, shit, your bitch is so promiscuous (damn) (promiscuous)

She a runner, you should see the shit she did (damn) (shit she did)

I ain’t lay up with her, I just hit and slid (never) (hit and slid)

I can’t do that shit, I’m a pimp, you dig?

(I'm a pimp, you dig?)

Midwest mackin', as it manifest (manifest)

Cathedral-fied ism, nothing less (nothing less)

Big breasts feel so good all on my chest (on my chest)

I’m an addict for this pussy, yes I must confess

Down South, sittin' low

Subs, subs, in my trunk

Midwest, pimpin' hoes, twenty-six's on the truck

Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho

Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho

Parking lot pimpin' with the candy painted doors topped

Now I’m still flippin' in the 'Caddy sittin' low

I told her: Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho

Put it on the, put it on the, put it on the floor, ho

Yeah, you know I’m a lone star, and my homie’s that Lone Star

Where them gangstas is known for having they own 'Dro, and they own bar

Baddest bitches that’s ballin' out with they own crib, and they own car

And when it come down to Texas, man there ain’t too many places that’s on par

Candy painted slab, rollin' up and down the ave

See them jazzy, yellow bras, with that big old ass to grab

We cuttin' corners, poppin' trunks, and we swangin', bustin' Sweets down

As we burn them Swishers up, and burn these streets down

Walking tall in my neighborhood, and I’m known for puttin' my feet down

Frontin' on a trill nigga, man guaranteed you gon' catch a beat-down

Your girl wanna swallow my meat down, and I’m inclined to let her

Trill O.G.

about the cheddar, and can’t no nigga do it any better

Hold up, man

Know what I’m talking 'bout?

The motherfuckin' confession of a motherfuckin' true bonafide, mackin' blessing

Know what I’m talking 'bout?

Rotating with my nigga Jon Connor, and we always seem to amaze and astonish

Know what I’m talking 'bout?

Motherfuckin' Ism is the motherfuckin' streets, rotating with my true playa

partner by the name of Bun B

Know what I’m talking 'bout?

Cathedral to the congregation

Know what I’m talking 'bout?

No more strangulation, raise your motherfuckin' pimping up and join this

motherfuckin' Ism nation

Divorce the bullshit, marry the motherfuckin' Ism

Church!