Z-Ro, Big Hawk - Steady Ballin' lyrics

It's going down, straight up
I'm steady balling, shot calling
I'm clowning em baby

Steady balling, tonight
We gon ride, while we sipping and smoking
Steady balling, outta control
We gon swang, with the trunk open glowing

Nothing but things I'm seeing
Nigga be chasing divid-ends pimping the pen
And I gotta keep a thermostat on my skin
And catch a cold
With the motherfucking ice I'm in
Big bubble lenses, at the front of the car
We in the club
Running up a fat run at the bar
Puffing plex, anybody get a punch to the jaw
No soda water, got a pint doing it raw
And everyday, I put new shoes on my feet
Sugar brown ladies, or red bones on my meat
I'ma skip with the rub or not, on my sheets
And ride with a big fo'-five, on my seat
Pulling out the yard, as I drop the top
Ready for the jackers
Still gon cock the Glock
Pulling up at the club
Everybody still show love
But, I'm still not, gonna stop for bops
But, I'ma stop for the drank, man po' me up
Hoping to nine seven point nine, blow me up
But these fellas be in it
For the competition
Seem like, everybody wanna show me up
But nigga fuck the fame
Cause I want the change like Lil' James
Leaving stains on niggas brain
I smoke and I lean
But still I maintain balling mayn

When the top down I'ma drop the rest
On 8-3's and bumper kit
Candy paint looking wet as spit
Piece on my neck read Screwed Up Click
Album silver bubble head lights
Trunk gon knock like lights of fire
At the intersection I run the red lights
All my jewelry is draped in ice
Crazy chain piece and medallion
Passenger seat a yellow stallion
Pretty brown eyes and thick thighs
Half Chinese mixed with Italian
Paid for everything cash
My rear view is in my dash
Got a pop spot to hide my stash
Hide my trunk see the baby gash
My L-Dog a souveiner
Drop my top feel the atmosphere
Tweeter singing loud and clear
In my cup is Belvedere
Pockets full of big face bills
Three story pad in Beverly Hills
So much ice you get the chills
In the studio I shred the reals

Man no more struggling we bubbling
Collecting with Breadwood
White golf against the click
We drop bullets and I'm ahead them
We ride on top of the ridge
Them like a wide stallion
Bezeltine around me neck
With the diamond medallion

Barley moving on swangas
And knocking off the side molding
Gotta give it up to the Fat Pat
Nigga cause we Southside holding
Rolling in luxury cars
Sipping on bar talking on cellulars
Receiving messages from Mars
Nothing but rap stars
Anybody wanna fuck with us
Fuck around and get flipped up and zipped up
In a six foot ziploc
Cause I got a Glock in my right hand
And I'ma flip
When a cat even act like he wanna trip
I said it like that and I'll say it again
Matter fact push record and play it again
With a bop digger then
Trae and Den in a Benz
And accepting all the dope trafficing
Got the dope in the trunk, and we backing in
So much money, gotta back track my ends
I got the glut opium, black cause I'm African
American, Guerilla Maab gon shine for life
But our motherfuckers
Are dull like a butter knife
I put it on my balls and on my life
Z-Ro never been shife
Cat don't come around me, just let me ball
If I fall off my note, then let me fall
Needed help from God, did he get my call
Pulling out the lot, and he let me crawl
Like Mafio, by the year two triple O
I'ma come down, in a six double O
With green flow, mats on the flo'
Candy paint on my do'
It's bout for the hook and it go