loko - dickies suits -- i sport my red dickies suit when i'm ridin and smokin / but on the block it's white to blend with the rocks i be throwin.
we buy them at bannock shack on 5th ave. it's a restaurant and a telemarketing office and a music store and a clothing store, a bunch of hustles under one roof. they buy the bright white ones from the paint store and dye them any color you'd want, budgie blue/bloodclot brownred/strawberry milk light pink. they can sow on your band/reserve patch or screen a full picture on the back. light khaki longsleeve shirt with angry wolf eyes with bushy eyebrows and MUSKEGWAN BAND #494 KINDERSLEY on the back. matching shorts. shirt unbuttoned to show off the bootleg pac shirts they sell, too.
i wear the khaki shortsleeve and matching shorts in the summer, company logo stitched on left breast pocket. wear them day after day, let them get sweaty and faded out, stained with dust and grass. and in the offseason, rocking the navy blue to add an intimidating legitimacy to any activity. an appearance of looking like-- saying, "this is my fucking job. this is how i eat. i've got the uniform. give me my fucking money." that's what it means. usually never put into practice.

mike jones/slim thug/lil keke/big pokey - still tippin remix --

i'm sittin on fo-fos, four point stance like a bulldog
blue lens, red lights, horsepower under the hood yall
oldschool like a 8track, my cake stack like a brick wall
roof pushed back when the six crawl, chip in the motor, i ditch the laws
door slamma, rimmed up, driveway decorated
four hammers, stash spot, everywhere, niggas hatin
off the cut, raise it up, afghan, blaze it up
park the car, play the truck, meet the rican, weigh the dub
pour it up, shake it up, four fifteens tryna break it up
slab ridin with a hockey game, i be the nigga that'll take the cup
state to state, pullin up like a hamstring, they no dealer
international, worldwide, cool but ain't no ho neither
it's pimpin here, i'm a ho bleeder, jet black fo-fo heater
four fos on four vogues, weed stashed in the door speaker
on boulevards i'm a slow creeper, hog the lane like the trash truck
dog i chase these fast bucks, niggas better get they cash up

ex-screwed up click members thrown a bone, given the privilege of getting on houston's biggest song of the year on a late late remix (officially a remix of a remix), getting a chance to shine alongside the northside kings, the new click running shit.