H-Town G-Funk Lyrics

Thanks to [email protected] for these lyrics.

[First Verse]
My sweet Lac fall back just creepin' on three wheels 
A bitch to my right cocked giving me cheap thrills 
I see meals, coming down my path 
In the ghetto cat's wrath making math 
I'm the last to blast, on that ass now you the past 
It's no joke you get smoked like buddah grass 
Who the fastest punk em' like cashes 
And when I crash this you catch whiplashes 
Bitch I'm on a mission to listen and give descriptions 
Hung G's in my hood in their intentions 
I hear gunshots ringing like hell's bells 
I see drug sells check out my thug tales 
Fuck jails, bank swells keeps hella grip 
And I can sell dope on ice, and never slip 
They serving Kibbles N' Bits while I'm cooking bricks 
Save my crumbs for the ones who sucking dicks 
I made it rich on the ditch you quick snap 
I left that cut now they wonder where the brick's at 
My green shit stacks, still clip packs 
Thirty-six lead homies so don't trip jack 
It's the wet back hitting on the bongs 
Son in the long run, I'll be the strong one. 

Chorus: (4X) 
If you step in my hood bitch you will get blasted 
It's nothin but that h-town g-funk 

(Yeah this is for all them hustlers in Hillwood, South Park. Huh.) 

[Second Verse]
I told yah, boy you must have caught amnesia 
Trying to jack now you're on your back breathing anastesia 
You got blasted cuz you trespassed it 
They never lasted, in the game I mastered 
You stupid bastard, tell me what's your final word 
Before I let this lead tip hit your spinal cord 
Oh you was ready just begging to gank me 
Now your ass is just dead and stanky 
I put my foot in your shit like the hokey pokey 
Leave the scene, now everything's okie dokie 
Your homies know me, but they won't fuck with this 
Cuz now they know that I could show buck a bitch 
I'm the macker plus the gun packer 
So you little jackers best stick to crackers 
Cuz fucking with this mex gets your neck broke 
Stuck like chuck straight fucked and in check Loc 
Cuz I think fast when I'm in the slow lane 
Get in my domain and fall back with no brain 
So dont raid, or try to rain on my parade 
Cuz i'm strapped from my blade, to my grenade. 

Chorus 

[Third Verse]
My sweet Texas, restless, wanting to ride Lexus 
Check this or flex this, I get wreckless 
Unbelievable lyrical synical 
Here we go mary go round I down critical 
Street stamina dammin' a cop 
Slammin' a punk, and jam in my funk 
I'm the man with the skill foreal 
Guard my grill with steel, on Sundays I kneel 
On my knees to Jesus, please seize us 
Cuz my boy's in trouble, and he needs us 
Got a bat, my homie's on the double 
Punks want trouble, I bam bam rubble 
Still the son of a gun having big fun 
Come and get some, I leave you wet mon 
Fill your lead with an infared 
I put the best to bed, they call him dead fucking fred 
Shed my skin like a snake on a vine 
Climbing on the crime side, coming around the blind side 
We fall in ranks like a motherfucking pyramid 
And I'm the top block will I stop never did 
Make you pass the 9th grade, but got life made 
Chose that dope and I hope I picked the right trade. 

Chorus