Lyrics Southern Comfort (On & On) - Big Mike, Mystikal

Southern Comfort (On & On)

That nigga Mystikal
Layin it down for the 19nigga6
Playin with cake for the 19nigga7
Fo sho
Knawmean?
Big daddy style
Now come and get a glimpse of this Uptown pimp
Who be havin a hard-on for this championship like Shawn Kemp
I got these women ballin, shrimp and crawfish by the Lake Front
Five gallons of D’Acquery, grilled steaks and blunts
Now women, you can state what you want and fellas, you can state what you need
But I’m always gee’d keyed with a bag of weed
Yes indeedy, I’m the player with the ball in hand
Got em ballin, man, darling I know you understand
Now it ain’t hard, nep, but you damn sure better watch your step
Platinum and gold, these hoes know my fuckin rep
Slept for a year, kickin it back, takin it easy
Now I’m back with the skills and the real flock to see me Now be me, be me, many a nigga tried to imitate this style
Couldn’t do i, t had to go home and practise for a little while
Longer, stronger back in '97 and '98 I’m droppin hits
Partner, stay off my dick, now quit
Tryin to portray the type of nigga you can never be
(Shit, Big Mike the dopest nigga you will ever see)
Get down for my crown, partner, what you say?
Big Mike and Mystikal, in December just like May
Shit, I was born and raised in New Orleans
I grew up on second lining and gumbo, red beans
Canal Street, river-boardin
Everybody ???, now I be talkin
Pointin gats like they do in the movies
Every night nigga made the news
Wearin a polo shirt and Bally shoes
'Stik can remember when them niggas went for hard
They would climb up they bars and so-called represent they Ward
When you get to the club it’s gon’be some shit-startin
And some shoulder-bumpin, steppin on toes, bitch, I beg your pardon
If you’re a buster, then you’re bust-up
If you’re a sucker, you’re gettin sucked up, tough luck
Stand up like a man and hold your own is the only motto
Cause all that gettin-fucked-all-over-shit played out with lotto
Fuckin erase and ease off the throttle
Before I bust you in your shit with this King Cobra bottle
Make the bitch respect Michael Tyler
Lord know a nigga don’t want to, but all you muthafuckas gotta
Not wantin the Gucci’s, tellin time through Movado
I don’t sell no powder, but I’m stackin g’s in my closet
Uptown niggas livin foul and
Westbank niggas gettin clicked out, Downtown niggas gettin violent
I’d probably be dead or locked down if it wasn’t for rappin
Cause where I’m from niggas ain’t havin fun unless they scrappin
Goin to war brawlin
Bitch, don’t get mad with me, that’s how it is in New Orleans
Bitch it goes on It goes on right here
It goes right here in New Orleans