| Bitch, I ain’t got nothing but time, so I’ma get out on these cuts
|
| and grind, keep my mind on cloud twenty-nine
|
| my player ways keep me with plenty dimes,
|
| see I’ma shine like all six of my gold teeth,
|
| when a nigga get through cooking up, this O-Z,
|
| all night on the block til the sun rise,
|
| my only friend is a glock with the 4−5
|
| Four five in the mornin it don’t stop,
|
| day dreamin bout flousin tha drop top, (woop)
|
| blue lights snap me back to reality
|
| I hit the alley quick and toss what I got on me Tricks ain’t got shit to do but harass,
|
| search tha nigga and took about a three in cash,
|
| I guess that’s better than gettin locked up,
|
| or gettin jammed with that shit I had rocked up, huh!
|
| Now I heard that the South is where yo folks from,
|
| down in the bottoms where they broke some,
|
| whips cross a nigga back, way back,
|
| and now they wonder why we act, how we act,
|
| gold teeth and heavy chevys, and talking slow,
|
| afros &loud ass Italian clothes,
|
| People bar-be-quein in the front yard
|
| Money from the first of the month card!
|
| If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up!
|
| I got a maid cooking grits, with a, outfit,
|
| so tight my niggas wanna stay the whole nite
|
| Dice game in the kitchen, nigga, T. Lee
|
| Nigga drunk singin sounding like tha Bee Gees
|
| Ham sam’ich in the driveway, drop top
|
| naked women in tha den playing, hop scotch
|
| Thirty bustas in my yard, they be, long gone
|
| So hit me and I’ma keep my, phone on I be out turning corners, dranking, one fifth
|
| Got some scratches on my rims, cause of one dip
|
| Met a broad yesterday, she hit me, ten times,
|
| if I diss her it’ll take a nigga ten lines
|
| MJG standing tall and I, won’t fold
|
| You can have all the bitches, cause I, don’t hold
|
| on to any woman like a human hand cuff
|
| You got ya hair down baby fuck it, stand up!
|
| (Repeat chorus)
|
| If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up!
|
| How many flows can I compose, I drop this slang like lyrical bows,
|
| stickin out just like an OUTKAST, over thornt from StimmerGroves,
|
| like nachos, the lyrics are crispy, crackin when y’all bite,
|
| been had a coke and a smile, now I’m trippin off Yak &Sprite,
|
| y’all just might seem to skunk out, with a girl who chunked out,
|
| below the Mason-Dixon line, real niggas know what I’m talkin about,
|
| from Texas, Atlanta, oh man, Alabama, Savannah,
|
| The deeper the darker tha dirty south is what I’m after,
|
| no laughter, the content of the rhyme may be contagious
|
| The Space Age is pimpin this, players comin major,
|
| they shot the psycho that sprayed, cut ya wife and played her
|
| The player the B.I.G, B.O.I, dope boy rhyme maker,
|
| beats by the layers, of music right here to please you,
|
| but if ain’t that dirty then patna see we don’t need you,
|
| you know I’m talkin bout
|
| OutKast, Eightball, MJG on y’all punk motherfuckers!
|
| (Repeat chorus)
|
| If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up!
|
| You wouldn’t understand, if you stood under it (ooh),
|
| it’s like the more that I talk to you tha dumber that I get,
|
| the closer that I walk to you, the further that we stand,
|
| apart distance, nobody has the upper hand but my bodies resistance,
|
| so now, throw your filangies in tha ground,
|
| I’m still abound, un-believers stay from hell around
|
| I found negatives niggas they only keep ya down,
|
| transmitting from Native American burial grounds
|
| I carry around, the weight of all worlds on my shoulderpads
|
| um post ta blast space invaders up somebodys dad
|
| Serious as Aa-Bb-Cc, if knowledge be the key then
|
| but it roasted on the porch, and wait for ya momma to get off work
|
| So she can roast yo ass, either to finda open window fast
|
| Word to the motherfucker, word to the motherfucker
|
| Word to the motherfucker!
|
| (Repeat chorus)
|
| If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up,
|
| If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up! |