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