St. Lunatics - Jang A Lang lyrics

rate me

If you like big thangs, put your hands high as you can

Get your shit man, make no difference from where you came, uh

I ain't ballin out here, no, I ain't playin no games

I got a new name for niggas with chains, jang a lang

Make way for the new breed bitch of this millennium

Stack chips, keeps the pistol grip why? 'Cause I'm offendin 'em

Rocks nothin but Cavada shit, I'm the baddest

The ice from head to toe, with that plaid shit

Mo' potent than I cut cocaine, through your vein

Off the hook, take a look, I'm the chick, I can't be tamed

One name like the highest breed, papi capéche?

One drove home from Italy, is y'all feelin me?

Be a mistress to none, but all good to some

Let me break you off a little, show you how it's done

Eyes trip for this goddess, gambino got your funds

And some fish are coppin flights for me to Reno

I see no other way for me to tell you how I feel

You wanna stick and move now you're fuckin with the real deal

Hold still, let this lady let loose

Keep them chips comin nigga or your neck'll catch a nuece

Now y'all know me, I like an old school Ozzie Smith jersey

Old school Jordans, head band that says "Murphy"

Stone washed, baggy as hell, double XL, with the sleeve off

On my way to drop a few G's off

Ease off, doin thirty-five, smokin fire, makin a right

I'm doin thirty now, riskin my life

Both clients on my cell phone, typin on my two-way

Rollin a blunt, still drivin, lookin at movies

Young Dude be floatin the city like cab drivers

Professional but still keep it real like Allen Iverson

I'm liver than Jay, Dave and Kathy and Regis

Been on more MTV shows than Butthead and Beavis

Keep a stash with the gas money, fast money, me and Slo Down, huh

We almost had to buy up the town

It's like a movie, oohhweee, doobies in a jacuzzi

Girls do what I say so I just tell 'em to do me

Ay, you know where my chains comes from, I spits fire

You know what them girls look at dirty, my big tires

My attire forty-two large denim, I sag in 'em

Dress eyes and ride hot rides and Jags in 'em

Let him talk his jazz, what's the tag gon' get 'em?

While I hit him in clutch time, roll up his dutch time

"No more herb", no such line, "uh oh" is my punch line

I'm hungry like a hobo standin in lunch lines

Crossed the gun line, boss, like Ray and Claud

I know niggas that make they money then pay they broads

I'm from the Lou, kinda new, I'm a make my laws

When I pull up on the show lot, it be, it's like pause

(Ay, where yo' Range at?)

It's outside you wanna clean it?

(Ay, where yo' name at?)

It's in The Source, you ain't seen it?

(Ay, where yo' chains at?)

You can't tell dirty, I'm sparklin?

Split it, fill it up, wrap it and spark it