Trae - Cadillac lyrics

(feat. Three 6 Mafia, Jay'Ton, Boss, Paul Wall)

Fell in love with a Cadillac [x2]

Trunk turn flip, like a acrobat

[Hook x2]

Broke up with my foreign car, and fell in love with a Cadillac [x3]

Trunk turn flip, like a acrobat

[Trae:]

I woke up, thinking foreign car

But the Cadillac, got a nigga sitting in a daze

24's and a swiss, sitting sideways

Trae flipping through the hood, like I'm running through a maze

Find me trunk up, with the top back

One deep in the front, two freaks in the back

Haters mad at me, cause I'm MVP stats

Better give me fifty feet, cause I'm good with the gat

Good with the track, like I'm good with the hands

15's banging, like I'm battle of the bands

New Benz like send, they run up out of grand

And the trunk read Trae, so they know that I'm the man

Me Paul Wall, in a slab out of Texas

In a Cadillac, had to get rid of the Lexus

Rather be gangsta, tipping on something

With something in the clip, that'll get rid of the plexing

[Boss:]

I fell in love, with my Coupe DeVille

It's on a switch, it's the truth for real

Scraping the back down, these Southwest streets

Got a few teeth in the grill, loose for real

Big pumps, two to the front one to the back

One wheel in the air, gliding like that

Three O-7, rebuilt without chrome

Hundred spoke Daytons, with the two prones

Next week, I'm in some'ing from the Lowrider book

I'ma show these motherfuckers, how a lowrider look

Hit a switch on Boss, will get your lowrider took

In '98, I use to be the lowrider crook

Fleetwoods, El-Dogs Sedan DeVilles

When I ride, always equipped with handy steel

Cocked up on three, and got em standing still

I'm in the attick, wondering when I'm gon land and chill

[Hook x2]

[Juicy J:]

I'm never staying focused, always smoking

Presidential kushing, always choking

Nigga I drank up, all your purple

If I find out, that shit be potent

Mayn I get high, fuck that shit

Your baby mama out here, sucking my dick

I'ma make her pay me, that child support

I'm a pimp out here, trying to make it rich

If you really wanna get high, let me know

I'll tell C.B., let you hit that blow

We can ride in the Cadillac, way in the fucking back

Hitting all the spots, just hogging that hoe

Then take a lot of freaks, to the Hotel room

System on blast, you can hear that boom

Mayn I'ma pop bout, two three X

And drop my drawas, and take this chewing

[DJ Paul:]

See in that M-Town, we snort that blow

Turn around mayn, and whip our hoes

Take me big gulp, full of that drank

Now I'm high, don't know what to think

First I had em beating fast, now I got em knocking slow

Sniff a lil' mo' of this sip a lil' mo' of that, even down the middle whoa

Closed up my foreign do's, opened up my American do's

'72 Sedan DeVille, 84's and 20 inch vogues

Chandillere, hanging from the top

Fish tank, lit up in the glass box

But I had to put, the toy fish in it

Cause the real ones died, from the kick box bitch

[Hook x2]

[Jay'Ton:]

Jay'Ton, pull up in a Lac cocked up

22 inch chrome, bags popped up

Diamonds in our mouth, cash stocked up

Ice game six, so the game locked up

9-4 Fleetwood, headlights on

Fifth let back, but the trunk moved on

Flying through the hood, with the six 12's on

Seal in the groove, super kush to the dome

19 in the game, only love for my Lac

Never loving a dame, swang to the left

When I'm hulling the frame, trying to take mine

You'll be hugging a stain, like I'm hugging the lane

Screw tape still on, drank in my cup

Everytime, that I roam

Roach ass hoes, still calling my phone

Representing for the South, H-Town is my home

[Trae:]

I'm a 24 inch black, Fleetwood glider

Tipping the block, they love the way the drop sit wider

Lord knows haters mad, when the left fly by ya

Call it what you want, but the Lac stay way liver

Boppers all on my dick, with the trunk up

Beating up the Boulevard, with the beat pumped up

Hit a switch on the remote, the front jump up

Run up on the slab, roam that'll get you lumped up

Hopping out looking like do's, got threw on backwards

Throwed wardrobe, by my bed son of a bastard

When it come to Cadillacs, Trae got that mastered

And the game that I got, way flyer than NASA

Me and Three 6, representing for the drank sippers

Iced out grills, and the wood grain grippers

84 swangs, and the late night tippers

Riding for the hood, Cadillac tight whippers

[Paul Wall:]

I got that candy red, with extra gloss

Heads turn, when they see me floss

Scooped up Trae, on a sunny day

Holla at Jay'Ton, and my boy Lil' Boss

Trying to stay popping, and hoes stay bopping

Cause the swangas poking, and the blades stay chopping

Beat the case, but the FEDs still watching

In the Fed-Ex truck, right down the street plotting

Dropped the top, if the sun on shine

Sipping on some potent, puffing on pine

Slow Loud And Bangin', in a candy slab line

Down here in H-Town, it go down

Old school Cheves, and throwback Lacs

Swangas and vogues, with a trunk that crack

This how it goes, down here in the 3rd Coast

Houston Texas, at the bottom of the map baby

[Hook x2]