Trae - Oh No

rate me

(feat. Paul Wall & Chamillionaire)


Oh no, there go them Texas boys banging in a fo' do'

Top fell out the drop, crawling on 84's

Think of taking my slab, baby I don't think so

My heat under my seat, and I don't love you hoes

Living it like a G, but still I gotta lay low

Five percent or ten, but still my screens gon glow

These haters be in my mix, and these boppers be on my dick

Everytime I come round the corner

[Paul Wall]

I'm from the land of opportunity, in God we trust

But haters in my mix, got me paranoid and disgust

I'm scoping out my side mirrors, when my car's in park

It's after dark, and my slab is fresh meat to these sharks

Boys thinking I been drinking, so I'm off my note

But I got seventeen surprises, tucked inside of my coat

See me strut through the parking lot, on 22's plus

It's a must I make all haters, eat my dust

Them jump-out boys, waiting trying to catch me slipping

I ain't tripping, grain ain't the only thing that I'm gripping

Boys jacking with these tow trucks, thinking they slick

But take a trip to South Lee, and end up in a ditch

They got my purple people eater once, the next day

I bought a Range Rover cash, and a new set of fronts

I've been on feet for months, I'm taking haters to lunch

Paul Wall and Trae, hit em with that one-two punch



When I flip in my slab

I'm fin to beat they back off, like I was legs

Sitting low and tinted on chrome, gangstafied till I'm finished

I'm bout to diminish these haters, when my trunk start waving

Blue over gray, side of my drop with six T.V.'s I'm displaying

They hate that I'm shining, with the fifth wheel falling flying down the block

But if one of these haters, wanna jack me

Slugs gon be flying, out the glock

I click for no reason, this season my slab is staining they brain

And I be known for getting reckless in Texas, gripping on grain

Forever be pimping, 84 tipping all through the South

Grilling boppers all through my tint, with diamonds all in my mouth

They all in my mouth, looking stupid when I burn right past em

Cause some of these broads be living shife, and setting up for the jacking

But not today, cause Trae gon be flipping on top of his game

We guerillas I'm mobbing with, ain't no stopping me mayn

When I'm in my fo' do' solo, the slab is bound to get tossed

And if you trying to be competition, then you bound to be getting lost



Now look how your life stares, in a barrel and I swear

I wouldn't let a platinum ghost, jack me in a nightmare

I got that paranoia for you, trigga finger gon destroy you

And if that trigga finger don't get you, get the number to my lawyer

I hold court with Ben Franklin, I talk with my bread

Soon as I let him out that briefcase, it's off with your head

Can't negotiate with the heater either, talk to the lead

And talk to your head, when it's finished you'll walk with the dead

I call the police they'll probably get him, by the end of the week

I call the streets, they gon get him before the end of this treat

With the end of the heat, to set flame to the end of his suite

The end of his feet, will be poking out the end of a sheet

Hold up I'm just saying though, has this happened befo' naw

But no law, gon keep these hollows from entering your jaw

If it's my money or my family, or my woman or my car

I'm headed to that blood bank, I'm bout to make a withdrawl



When I'm coming round that corner

All you haters, better get up out of my range

Run up on me, if you wanna

I ain't gon play no games, at all when I'm taking my aim

Cause you're gonna be a goner

You thinking of taking mine, late night when the 84's swang

I know you niggaz in the game, gotta feel the same

Make a jacker feel the pain, and he can charge it to the game

When I'm coming round that corner


Run up on me, if you wanna


Cause you're gonna be a goner


I know you niggaz in the game, gotta feel the same

Make a jacker feel the pain, and he can charge it to the game


Get this song at:

Share your thoughts

0 Comments found