| Hey, yeah! |
| I want all you proud sistas to stand up
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| I want everybody to stand up and be counted tonight
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| Brothers and Sisters if you know you got your thing together
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| I want you to stand on up, now I got somethin' to tell ya'
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| I told ya' how to think about it, now I want to tell how to get the thing
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| together
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| So come on now and get up to it yall
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| The incredible, untouchable nigga spittin' venom out his body wit' the dopest
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| flows
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| And wonder why the line’s around the corner
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| Cuz the little motherfucker has the dopest shows
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| So one time for my independant women and all the single mothers who be gettin'
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| that cake
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| Two times for my dawgs pullin' triggers
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| And my niggas in the kitchen that be flippin' that weight
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| East coast, west coast, midwest, dirty south
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| Then we took it all around the world
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| I got fans in retirement homes, to teenagers, to little bitty boys and girls
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| Droppin' lyrical bombs up in ya' hood
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| Non-stoppin', I’mma hit 'em till the block explode
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| Hip hop, R&B, Pop-tart, what you want?
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| I even got a little rock 'n' roll
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| The most creative, original, got 'em takin' subliminal
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| They want it so bad, four million dollar pad
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| And enough to retire off two albums, gone, wave ya' white flags, I’m hot!
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| And everytime I rhyme I’m puttin' rappers in the ground
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| Wit' lines that got 'em hooked like dope
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| They gotta make up they mind, because they runnin' outta time
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| And I’m about to make 'em choke
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| Better turn your stereo louder, listen up and let me preach
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| Let’s get arrested for Disturbin' the Peace! |
| (C'mon)
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| Man! |
| This Disturbin' Tha Peace shit gettin' on my nerves
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| Boy I tell you the truth, know what I’m sayin'?
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| While he doin' shows, I’m in these skreets, know what I’m sayin'?
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| While he on tv, I’m in these skreets
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| And then my broad, my kid walkin' around singin' it
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| Boy, if they sing another verse, boy I swear
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| Know what I’m sayin'? |
| I’m on another level though
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| I gotta car wash, I gotta shop on O' National
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| I got my own record label, you heard of us
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| The Posse Family Cartel, you know what I’m sayin', we real
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| Who this nigga thing he is?
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| I’mma house hold name, wit' game spittin' outta my mouth at all times
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| I spit it out and about, and spit outta the south, until they recognize the
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| danger signs
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| So feel a tingle in yo' s-spine, by the way I talk
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| And it’s pimpin' in my blood, you can tell by the way I walk
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| Ooh lawd, more styles than a barber shop, call the cops
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| People in the way wanna baller block
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| Little do they know that I’m callin' shots
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| And I’m not to be fucked with
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| If you see me comin' 'round the corner, then duck quick, perpetrators can suck
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| dick
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| I tried to tell 'em, but they dont wanna listen
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| I tried to shine 'em, but they dont wanna glisten, while the high hat keeps on
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| tickin'
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| And the kick drum keep on pumpin', I’m dumpin' on the closest fools
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| Cuz rules were made to be broken, but you can’t make broken rules
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| Hear what I’m sayin' or heard what I said
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| Hear what they playin', cuz thru this music I’mma still be heard if I’m dead
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| Call ya' producers, cuz I’m hurtin' these beats
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| I said it once, I’ll say it twice, biatch, Disturbin' Tha Peace
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| Yeah, folk
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| The King of the kings has spoken
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| ATL shawty! |
| Hood to hood, block to block
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| We bouta let our nuts hang!
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| Disturbin' Tha Peace!
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| We dont die, we multiply
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| We makin Def Jam history
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| Thanks for gettin' the CD shawty! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Southern Fried Intro , by - Ludacris. Song from the album Chicken - N - Beer, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп