![Down In Da Water - Nelly, Ali, Gube Thug](https://cdn.muztext.com/i/3284751034653925347.jpg)
Date of issue: 31.12.2003
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Universal Music
Song language: English
Down In Da Water |
Ohh, uhh, uhh, uhh |
Diamond and heavy metal rocker, eight-tray hopper |
Silkk headliner, ain’t No Limit to how I Shock ya |
All chrome dated, they suberb when I drop her |
All these haters, they suberb when I cock the |
Nah I ain’t gon' tell ya (uh-uh) I keep that to myself |
But you gon' see it if you don’t let me keep it to myself |
Don’t make me start man, I’m from the heartland |
Where they might shoot you up (ohh) it’s not your heart layin |
Wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy down in da water |
Man look hurr homie, I’m from the «Show Me» |
And uh, you need to show me what you talkin about |
What all that gawkin about, or you just runnin your mouth |
I’m off the banks of that M-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I |
The hump back girls with thighs |
Where they be built like bricks, praised for bein thick |
Or maybe skinny like a stick, but they fine as shit |
I stay. |
We stay wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy down in da water. |
yeah |
Off the banks of the muddy Mississippi ready to put that ass in order |
(Shhhh, keep it quiet now) |
Wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy down in da water. |
yeah |
Off the banks of the muddy Mississippi ready to put that ass in order |
Yo, check, yo |
You gettin close to me when you hit them rocks on the banks |
So grab your flippers, goggles and oxygen tank |
Go grab a wet suit, check your regulator soon |
Cause we pack spear guns and give niggas harpoons |
Then we — flood the streets, oh how they — lovin me |
Come through in the Buick sittin so — love-ly |
We like some catfish lobsters, ghetto-fied mobstas |
Dress sharp, smile in your face and still rob (ho) |
I’m natural wit it (wit it) Supreme actual factual wit it (wit it) |
I got them gats you got to get it, you and them cats got to get it |
Get it. |
(brrrrrap, pow pow pow, brrrrrap) |
. |
I’m concrete booted, all khaki Dickie suited |
RUN FOR COVER! |
Somebody call up the Guinness |
Book of World Records, tell 'em we poppin tremendous |
Dirty we big truckin with weapons of mass destruction |
It’s the muddy St. Louis, get to it, cash is nothin |
It go. |
Yo. |
I’m from the land of kick do’s |
Where niggas come through your window with pistols |
Like Bruh Man off the fifth flo' |
See the way the wrist glow, sick flow |
Better yet, turn off the lights, I’ll turn this bitch into a disco |
Hood crime highly infested |
Check your rap, rock and pop stations; |
Gube Thug, highly requested |
And my gun like Chris, you know I’m gon' +Tucker+ |
In a Spider Modena, the color of Apple Pucker |
And the game from the veterans, righteous bars |
I’m in it for longevity, stripes and stars |
And the world might change if ever I quit blessin it |
Just use my illest verse to throw in the New Testament |
I got a need for speed like Jeff Gordon |
Shot hoops in size 10, it’s just Jordan |
Plus, I should be a warden the way I lock cells |
Might, catch me hoppin outta the truck, blowin the L |
We yellin. |
— repeat to fade |
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---|---|
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Call On Me ft. Nelly | 2020 |
Getcha Getcha ft. St. Lunatics | 2005 |
Chill ft. St. Lunatics | 2007 |
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Millionaire ft. Digital Farm Animals, Alan Walker, Nelly | 2016 |
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