Lone Star Lyrics - While You Were Sleeping - 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 

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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 

Photos 

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 

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 

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 

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!