| Check 1, 2
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| Check 1, 2 baby, yeah, uh
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| 1, 2, 1, 2, microphone check, 2
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| Somebody better tells these mothafuckers how we wreck fools
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| Disrespect fools
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| Check and snap necks too
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| Chrushin' duos
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| Sittin', waitin' on the next 2
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| Nigga, me and Bun got the extra clips and bullet proofs
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| Gone off illegal shit, bustin' out the sunroofs
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| Scatterin', niggas chatterin'
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| About where they been
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| Where they from, why they hate me, and relate me with
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| Stereotipical, down South country shit
|
| On the real, we on the hustlin' makin' money shit
|
| It’s EightBizall makin' nigga feel Memphis, Tenn
|
| Makin' hip-hop, funky as a chit-a-lin
|
| Bitter men, mad, thinkin' that they better men
|
| Knockin' at the Suave House door, but we won’t let 'em in
|
| Hoes and niggas, got a lot of shit to talk about
|
| Runnin' your mouth, can get you dead, deep down South
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| I don’t know where ya been
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| And I don’t know what ya seen
|
| But I know deep down South
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| It’s all about the green
|
| Now, I don’t know what ya seen
|
| And I don’t know where ya been
|
| But I know deep down South, ya keep your G-U-N
|
| I don’t know what you’ve done
|
| And I don’t know what you do
|
| But I know deep down South
|
| Nigga, it’s all on you
|
| Now, I don’t know what you do
|
| An I know what you’ve done
|
| But we can’t tell ya 'bout nobody else
|
| But Ball and Bun
|
| I see no evil
|
| Say no evil
|
| Hear no evil
|
| Try not to get in no evils
|
| Raised up on Briz and Biz Bo-wevils
|
| Ain’t no sequels for your people when we touch down
|
| South gon' put that crush down
|
| Nigga lay your philly, and you’ll touch down
|
| Takin' that shit so much clown
|
| Don’t even sound real no mo'
|
| Your cap’ll get peeled, slo-mo
|
| Fuck you and that steel .44
|
| I’m triz, oh ho
|
| Pay your dumbasses no nevermind
|
| Flip flows, so clever shine
|
| Like diamond grapes on leather vines
|
| Forever I regard it
|
| As the first fool that started
|
| Movin' gassed up niggas till they farted
|
| Hands, black hearted, cold
|
| Get retarded
|
| Like slingblade, it bring made niggas
|
| I played niggas
|
| Still wanna see a thing fade niggas
|
| I stay niggas
|
| That is the fight, what you believe
|
| Give you life room to breathe
|
| But tonights the night for you to leave
|
| As soon as sleep
|
| Ain’t got, no tricks up
|
| Your still get mixed up
|
| From Southern black macks
|
| That stay gettin' they dicked sucked
|
| Crooked as the first letter in the word South
|
| Niggas who be 'bout gettin' paid, even when it’s a drought
|
| Fuckin' some stout, smokin' out
|
| At my nigga house
|
| 98 live, side bet and gettin' screwed out
|
| Screwed up, drinkin' my cup
|
| Grippin' my nuts
|
| Hoes be jockin', but eager niggas get setup
|
| Wet up, fucked up, what’s up?
|
| Test us, guess what?
|
| True but, you just, messed up
|
| Deeper, than encyclopedia Britanica
|
| If Ball don’t do it, then Bun-B gonna handle ya
|
| To all you Betty Crocker
|
| Cock knockers that wanna cook a cake
|
| But don’t know what it took to make that bitch
|
| Take a look you fake
|
| And switch your recipe
|
| Niggas always takin' tests of me
|
| Pressin' me, just to see the stress and hate
|
| Bring the best of me
|
| Leave your mouth open, sesame seed
|
| I seperate from stem and weed
|
| Me, I go, murder
|
| Murder them in deep blood clot
|
| They get all red hot from lead shots
|
| And what not
|
| Mine, I go dead after red dot
|
| And buckshot
|
| So bitch niggas get the fuck out
|
| Leave suckas stuck, fuck props
|
| This where the buck stops
|
| Yeah, Euphoric images
|
| Psycadelic gangsta shit
|
| This is fuckin' groovy man
|
| I’ll be back |