| We just some country boys — country walk, country talk
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| Don’t bring it round here 'less ya know fa sho' it’s jumpin off
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| We just some country boys — country walk, country talk
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| Don’t bring it round here 'less ya know fa sho' it’s jumpin off
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| Uhhh. |
| this nigga no games (games)
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| With my Hanes tee shirt, with a pick and roll chain (chain…)
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| Durag, heavy blue 'Lac — 85 South, don’t drive it too fast (too fast)
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| My niggas don’t roll no phillies
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| Get a big box of them brown Dutches (brown Dutches)
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| We don’t want no brand new Car
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| Brandon lemme get them keys to the Cutlass (Cutlass)
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| Represent for the M-I-L, the A-T-L, the Naptown (Naptown)
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| Stay smokin that smackdown, keep myself a little half pound (half pound)
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| You know B. Stille in the cut, on the back po’ch Jig drillin it up
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| Black folks just livin it up, court next week not givin a fuck!
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| What’s up? |
| Grown standin — only rap to them grown women (grown women)
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| Stay high, we’ll play shy, least till I can get home wittem
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| Shorty whattchu thinkin? |
| Whattchu drinkin? |
| — thinkin it is what it ain’t
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| I cain’t be trickin, so don’t be trippin, thinkin I can when I cain’t
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| Come on.
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| Nigga hooked it up, like the waitress from the IHOP
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| Nothin but the grits, steak, and egg with that
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| Waitin for the five dollar pancake, front-back side to side
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| Impala, country boy, Cadillac, cat sick in the Monte Carlo
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| All clean (twenty inches) at the seam (plenty chickens)
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| Get the green (split the swishers) at the Beam (shit done seem)
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| Craziest muh’fucker, what y’all niggas do for cream
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| Never knock the hustle scheme, only what the cheddar bring
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| Hate, fake-niggas, hoes, envy, greed, jealousy
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| Cain’t take what a nigga make type of enemy
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| Smilin' in my face but they really ain’t no friend to me
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| Cain’t wait, send em eight straight nine milli-mee
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| Aww hell naw, y’all niggas ain’t feelin me!
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| Colt 45 e’rytime like Billy D
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| Ninety-five (?) leave through Tennessee
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| Quarter pound with the Crown fuckin wit my memory
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| Peanut butter (Rag-tops) — what’s fuckin wit that?!
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| (String beans) pork chops — what’s fuckin wit that?!
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| Dime sack (with the gnac') — what’s fuckin wit that?!
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| What’s fuckin with that?! |
| What’s fuckin wit that?!
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| Every Chevy (on dubs) — what’s fuckin wit that?!
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| (Jodi-Bodi) strip clubs — what’s fuckin wit that?!
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| Nappy Roots (hey dawg) — what’s fuckin wit that?!
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| What’s fuckin wit that?! |
| What’s fuckin wit that?!
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| Come down to the country, you won’t wanna go back
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| Vertical grills in front of the 'Lac
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| Blunts rolled so fat, put one in my back
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| Plus a buncha country boys wit gats, you don’t want none-a that
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| Keep — my nine — right beside me, at all times
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| Cuz I be in the line, like somma these niggas you find
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| Don’t want you to shine, right yea.
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| From the side and nine-to-nine
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| Roll around here somethin tryna sell mine
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| Lord know but I got a dime early time
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| Got me feelin to', now my Eggo’s cold
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| See I’m a country boy (Huh?) Close the door (Huh?)
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| Clinton and Gore (Huh?) Y’all been warned (Huh?)
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| Guns and more — better hit the floor
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| Them yeggaz want ya cuz they comin in with them laws
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| Fuck — yo life; |
| buck — my chife
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| And I got my ride, fool, I’m ready to ride
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| For my yeggaz I’mma bring it to you dead or alive
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| Yeah that’s fa sho' ya better know that
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| You a nasty ho, ya better show that
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| Got a quiet lil' spot we can go at
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| And if you ain’t wit that, we can show you where the do' at |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Country Boyz , by - Nappy Roots. Song from the album Watermelon, Chicken & Gritz, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп