Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song New South, artist - Bubba Sparxxx. Date of issue: 22.09.2003
Song language: English
New South |
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah |
| To all it was |
| All it is |
| And all it shall be |
| New South |
| Uh, yeah, yeah |
| I gotta key Bubba answers, a kilo of questions |
| The heart for humility, that ego perplexes |
| Strength, will and honor, a hero’s possessions |
| On the road to destiny I need no directions |
| Far to Southerners, the best man the winner |
| And only this morning does the best man remember |
| Fighters seen the weak, more success than inventors |
| And a saint never ever suffers less than a sinner |
| But I’m proud to admit that this shit no longer |
| Phases or amazes me, I only grow stronger |
| At any given moment this world can so long ya |
| Box you up, drop you in the dirt and slow song ya |
| So every blessed minute I’m breathin |
| I’m conceivin, for when I do perish, reasons for your grievin |
| That’s not to say I plan on leavin here this evening |
| I’ll be in Honolulu with Steven next season |
| Live, die, laugh, cry |
| Life will pass by |
| Breathe in, exhale |
| I scream, you yell |
| New South! (New South!) |
| New South! (New South!) |
| Ew, a ew, (break it down) |
| Ew, a ew (break it down) |
| And we gonna rush 'em with a blitz on this |
| Go round the world and hit every other upper scale and project brick with it |
| Bubba Sparxxx who meet with the Organized Godly beat |
| Man it’s funny how God can be when you work hard to achieve |
| It’s still slaw nigga (*vocal scratch*), spittin that Pac liquor |
| This is straight up pocket party, your summer that not nigga |
| classical rhymes got most cats tryna battle with Ken |
| Bet they won’t «go up shit creek without they paddle again» |
| Come down to my town, bet you won’t visit Athens again |
| And I write that hard har, roll like I got crack in my pen |
| But since your so happy that things go exactly as planned |
| Don’t clack if we land, then it’s crack a lackin again |
| Then most of these clowns up outta the pay |
| All I need is a stout, clean your coolatta and day |
| And the day that I’m able to finally get outta the game |
| What this hip hop has become is what the New South gotta change |
| Bring it back |
| What difference does it make, who I’m affiliated with |
| Cause if you love 'em, how could you have really hated this |
| All the groundbreakin these hillbilly maders did |
| Wasn’t no room for +Bubba Talk+ until we made it did |
| I flow for Jimmy Mathis on that bus route daily |
| And for momma June and all she fuss about lately |
| I’m a get it white, if your hairless for Governor |
| I’m tellin y’all the yanks ain’t prepared for this southerner |
| C-Dub certified, DF, dignitary |
| Beat Club, they applaud, New South, visionary |
| In spite of the efforts y’all made to pigeon hole me |
| I rose from the pig shit without a smidgen on me |
| At 15, '90, Adam’s drive makin miracles |
| For these many much, yes and everyday is pivotal |
| I’m no entertainer so what I say is literal |
| You say you «New South», faker tat it on your genitals |