Ball Caps & Tennis Shoe Lyrics

(feat. D-Gotti, E.S.G., Noke D, Ronnie Spencer)

[talking]
Ahhh, it's ball caps (yeah)
Tennis shoes (tennis shoes)
Y'all feel that (yeah-a-a-yeah)
Know what I'm talking bout

[D-Gotti]
Now as I floss through the club, in my FUBU gear
Zero-5 on my chest, it's going down in here
Mink coats off the hook, make the boppers stop and look
Dusty hoes get shook, thoed ones get took
Feeling like a crook, with my hat to the back
Same color Air Macks, bout to snatch me a pack
Sipping on conyac, spectators get blinded
Words out they mouth, that D-Gotti been grinding
He shining, underline him as a ghetto prince
Dining on lobster and shrimp, and show baguettes when he grin
Set trends through tight shirts, and slacks don't match
It's bout jersey, caps and tennis shoes and my CM hat
And see I always, do what I wanna do (do what I wanna do)
I'm playa made, so I'm ball caps and tennis shoes

[Noke D]
Sho nuff, see it was 1:45, when I pulled in the lot
19's on chrome, with the sun-proof box
Boppers watch as I step down, like a thug you know
Almost gave a nigga hell, when I got to the do'
Talking bout no tennis shoes, or no ball caps allowed
But I paid about three hundred, for my thug attire
Now I paid 150, for the damn Air Macks
And uh 125, for the jersey to match
And 75 bucks, for FUBU shorts with cuffs
And if that ain't enough, then you hoes can suck a nigga nuts
See I'm a real true G, and you crazy
If you won't let me in your club, then you'll pay me
To do your show, and you gon know
That it's about five deep for Noke D, Gotti and E
So whoever at the do', show your partna some love
Instead of letting these hoe ass scrubs, off up in your club
True thugs get back rubs, in the VIP
Sipping bar with sexy broads, lap dancing for free

[Chorus: Ronnie Spencer]
Ball caps, and tennis shoes y'all
That's a hustler's attire
When he on the move, yeah-hey
Ball caps, and tennis shoes y'all
I got the new Air Macks, jersey to match
Fall up in the club, with my hat to the back

[E.S.G.]
I valeted the V-12, can't you tell I'm on fire
VIP through the club, with my thugged out attire
Live wire later show, and now I'm button to Meca
Khaki's creased platinum piece, touch the tip of my baretta
Southside trend setter, nobody does it better
And I did it cap fitted, to the back on leather
No matter the weather, this how real hustle work
Boy you gets no play, with that gay muscle shirt
On my bumper the skirt, I'm finger fucking with my diamonds
Love them old school J's, but Air Macks be the finest
Man I'm shining and grinding, and I know you hoes see
Ball caps and tennis shoes, copped the blues ?Thenins?
Even though a nigga thoed, got stopped at the do'
Turned around and called the damn, security guard a hoe
You gonna call 5-0, slammed the do' on the Gator
On my way to make a maker, putting it down with major playas

[Chorus x2: Ronnie Spencer]

[Ronnie Spencer]
Yeah, we ball till we fall
Noke D, E.S.G. and D-Gotti
Wreckshop Family