Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Awnaw, artist - Nappy Roots. Date of issue: 03.12.2001
Song language: English
Awnaw |
| Yeah, haha Nappy Roots |
| Awwnaw! |
| Awnaw! |
| Hell naw! |
| Man |
| Y’all done up and done it |
| Awnaw! |
| Hell naw! |
| Boy |
| Y’all done up and done it |
| Awnaw! |
| Hell naw! |
| Boy |
| Y’all done up and done it |
| Ah, y’all done up and done it |
| Man y’all done up and done it |
| My first song was like forty-eight bars with no hook |
| You hear me flippin through my pages out my favorite notebook |
| The microphone was in the closet (What?) |
| No headphones, we lost it |
| Niggas scared to get some water, roaches hangin over the faucets |
| No AC, Tez’ll break a sweat just tryin to make beats |
| E-Dubz was being a hustler, (Heeeyy man!) |
| All play flirtin all his customers, and flat broke |
| Nappy smokin blacks out on the back porch |
| I’m thinkin I got everything a country boy could ask for |
| Now what we do to get here? |
| (Say dat boy!!) |
| Lay it down and bring it to ya raw (Say dat boy!!) |
| Hey now we hurt some, suffered for more, takes what we work for |
| Hated for for the cussin, but the hatred it made us cuss more |
| Held on, but it was hard — stepped up, took charge |
| Ran through what we scared up, but what was we afraid for? |
| Look what we made of, heart that what made us |
| Being here is alright, but must believe we won’t fall! |
| Them country boys on the rise! |
| With them big fat wheels on the side! |
| Peep them vertical grills on the ride! |
| And aw-awww-awww-awww! |
| Them country boys |
| With them big fat wheels |
| Peep the vertical grills |
| And awww! |
| My yegga, we hog wild, bet that from that roota to that toota-file |
| Hell naw, them country boys ain’t headed south for six miles |
| Kentucky mud, them kinfolk, twankies with them hundred-spokes |
| Skullied on that front porch, plus you know they got 'dro |
| Seventy-nine coupe DeVille vertical Caddy grill |
| Interstate 65 headin down to Cashville |
| Glass filled, to the tippy-top, back-seat Benz |
| Spent my last cent on the rent, left with pocket lints |
| A damn shame, gotta grind anything and everything |
| Jimmy Crack Corn, cross the county line with Mary Jane |
| A long time, a gravel road, to cash and fame and sold my soul |
| To Hell and back, and back and forth, with same jeans and nappy 'fro |
| I might, hop off the Harley, spoke mine like Bob Marley |
| Not parties with charties, wallin like they swallowin Bacardi |
| Them butter-skin, Prophit gotta like them |
| Understand you 'bout to lose ya life fuckin with them! |
| Them country boys on the rise! |
| With them big fat wheels on the side! |
| Peep the vertical grills on the ride! |
| And aw-awww-awww-awww! |
| Them country boys |
| With them big fat wheels |
| Peep the vertical grills |
| And awww! |
| Them country boys |
| With them big fat wheels |
| Peep the vertical grills |
| And awww! |
| Them country boys |
| With them big fat wheels |
| Peep the vertical grills |
| And awww! |
| Them country boys on the ride! |
| With them big fat wheels on the side! |
| Peep the vertical grills on the ride! |
| And aw-awww-awww-awww! |
| Them country boys |
| With them big fat wheels |
| Peep the vertical grills |
| And awww! |