Letra de ' Four 12s ' de Chuck Inglish

Four 12 kickers like it’s ‘94
Pop the trunk on em like it’s duffle dope
Keep a million units, I could see to it
Get the boulevard juckin like a thick booty
Uh uh uh do it
GO track a rap, trappin out of the Suzuki
Fall back, boys know exactly what I’m doing
In the Vera Cartiers and the Patrick Ewings
Drop top with a chow chow puppy
And my girl in a bikini top, breakin down the tuck
Way she rollin coulda swear we’s going bowling
If I can’t wear shorts then a nigga not going
Triple gold rims, not stolen
Twine got 5 cellphones on er, how you want it?
Call me up if you want that plug
If not, don’t trip, we’ll get back up

Uh uh uh uh uh we’ll get back up
Uh uh uh uh uh don’t trip, we’ll get back up

I’m the coldest, stack it til a nigga can’t fold it
Rolled in with a bitch from Beverly, she said she rollin
Twistin up a blunt, sprayed I got 4
And then I filled her 3 holes like I was pullin
2 texts on my phone by the time a nigga dippin
Trippin ‘cause I fucked er, my Jordan one stitchin
Faded the limp, one brought up on hustle and pimpin
These messages get ignored if it ain’t about no digits
What’s the deal, dawg? I’m tryna touch a couple mill though
Fuck a ounce, I’m tryna see how much it feel cold
I’m Sam Rothstein, clean, grab the shakers
In LA for months, I still won’t bet on the Lakers
Head cracked, run it back, wutchu sayin?
Hold ‘em baby, sucka niggas never playin
I’m getting head while I hit my bud
I’m in her mouth and then I’m out, we’ll get back up

Uh uh uh uh uh we’ll get back up
Uh uh uh uh uh don’t trip, we’ll get back up

I said baby girl “I do drugs”
Smoke dope and sell dope
Bitch I’m from DC, have the sexies off that cellphone
My motherfucker wire tapped
Nigga owe me money cross the country, tell em wire that
Fire that, fat breezy full of tracks
Loud pack, only smoking killa, hoe
Run in May season, Compton killa low
Fly shit, 88’ers on him, such a pilot
I do my own stunts, lil nigga don’t try this
My old bitch a dove, she got a new nigga
Happy for em both, I just made a few figures
Off the motherfuckin trap though
Walkin through the front but I’m leavin through the back door
Asshole, put that on the regular
Rollin Keisha, never smoking regular
Never bruh, never us, only smoke that pollside
Get you high enough, high enough to go salute God
Yea that’s death nigga, blow a ses nigga

Uh uh uh uh uh we’ll get back up
Uh uh uh uh uh don’t trip, we’ll get back up