Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mississippi, artist - Afroman. Album song The Good Times, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 27.08.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Universal Music
Song language: English
Mississippi |
(Palmdale was like the peak of my life |
But Palmdale over with homeboy |
I’m fittin to go home cuz) |
Please take me back home (you know what I’m sayin) |
To Mississippi |
(I got my Greyhound ticket right here man |
I’m fittin to go back and kick it with my family cuz) |
Please take me back home (take a couple pounds of this weed) |
To Mississippi |
(You shmell me homeboy |
Yeah, take them fools back to '82 cuz) |
Before South Central, Palmdale flossin |
I stayed in a place called Palmer’s Crossing |
Hattiesburg, Mississippi |
Smokin marijuana like a Woodstock hippy |
All my homies in Laurel |
Beg borrow |
Buy my rap tape tomorrow |
Tell DJ Pumpkin «Keep it crunckin Clyde» |
Request my tape when you go inside |
So I can take Jane and girl |
To Waynesboro |
Fuck their little homegirl |
Make her toes curl |
Rock their world |
Leave with their Auntie Sheryl |
She sucks me sucks me |
Fucks me fucks me |
Cries every time I leave Biloxi |
But I hops in the Coup |
Cause I gots to go |
Scoop another ho |
From Tupelo |
Hit it once hit it twice, then I hit it again |
Hit it in Meridian |
Make that bitch rub her clit again |
Pinch the nipples on her tit again |
Suck my dick until she spit again |
Please take me back home (Hell yeah) |
To Mississippi |
Crooked letter crooked letter hump-back hump-back |
Afroman’s the bomb, bump that |
Please take me back home (Hell yeah) |
To Mississippi |
From the delta to the coast |
I’m doin the most |
Grab your 40 ounce, let’s toast |
I sold rock cocaine down in Ellisville |
Baseheads hit the pipe, they can tell it’s real |
Kept my dope stashed with this hoochie |
Way down yonder in Eastabuchie |
Cops be sweatin outta town dog |
Sniffin my car with a hound dog |
Separate me from my bitch and shit |
Tryin to get my bitch to fuckin snitch and shit |
Officer Roscoe P. Coltrane |
Runnin warrant checks on the Afroman |
But I can’t be no hip hop star |
Cuffed in the back of some police car |
Did you find the gun? |
NO! |
Did you find the dope? |
NO! |
Open up the back door «Well son, you’re free to go» |
A-F-R-O marijuana cargo |
Flossed like a cholow |
In a clean low glow |
Come on let’s all get drunk tonight |
I hope I don’t fight with a punk tonight |
Get nervous |
As I swerve this |
Cadillac through Purvis |
Hope I don’t crash when I hit Petal |
Get my ass kicked in the white ghetto |
Prejudice police won’t let me go |
So I’mma drive slow |
Hide my fro |
I was dumb, now I’m dumber y’all |
Last summer y’all |
I fucked all the little girls down in Sumrall |
Grabbed my guitar and started pickin a tune |
For Nikki and June |
Down in Picayune, baby |
Just like a shovel I be diggin |
All the pretty young women in Wiggins |
On the boat |
Gulfport |
I got my dick down some girl’s throat |
I can’t help it I’m a Crip baby |
I think you need to wipe your lip baby |
Hula Hula Hula |
The whole house ruler |
What’s up with all the bitches down in Pascagoula |
Small towns, small cities |
But they still got big ole asses plus titties |
Is it a bird? |
Is it a plane? |
It’s the hungry hustler Afroman |
Flyin through the air in my underwear |
Geri curl activator in my hair |
I’m in control like Janet when I hit Jackson |
Always gettin plenty panty action |
McClaine, even McComb |
Tell the whole world Mississippi’s your home |
Yazoo, Columbia and Natchez |
I got the weed brother, who got the matches? |
Who got the funky DJ that scratches? |
Depend on me like my name was patches |
First it was a black thing, just the big Willies |
Now I roll Phillies |
With all the Hillbillies |
Never ever thought I’d see the Klu Klux Klan |
Buying front row seats for the Afroman |
Confederate flags tobacco in their mouth |
It’s a beautiful thing jumpin off in the South |
Afroman, I’m a part of it |
Hattiesburg hip hop I’m the start of it |
I’m the latest |
I’m the greatest |
And all you haters, I’ll mash you like potatoes |
I’ll make your girlfriend holler and scream |
Then cook me some cornbread and collard greens |
Erin, Broste, Carlos, and Tonto |
Tryin to break dance in my B-Boy stance |
Micheal Jackson glove, parachute pants |
Calvin Gary, Garnett Jones |
G-dog cuz, I don’t believe we grown |
But hey G-dog, you and me’ll see dog |
Whatever happens cuz, it’s you and me dog |
Or should I say loc |
Cause you my folk |
So let’s take a toke |
Till we croak |
I’m a locsta locsta |
Hundred spokesta |
Drinking everyday like I’m supposed to |
Bottle after bottle dog in my lip-a |
Flowing on the mic like the Mississippi river |