| Verse one: big boi, andre
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| From the bottom of my lungs a nigga be blowin, spittin his game
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| Comin up on ya from the south, the a-t-liens aint changed
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| Cooler than most players claim to be
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| A nigga thats from the a-town see
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| The home of the bankhead bounce, campbellton road and other city streets
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| Enough of the verality, fallacy, butter we speak not fiction
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| Speakin of pullin yo girl lookin at jheri curls you bitches
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| Everytime I ryhme for yall, Im lookin to prove a point
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| Kickin a freestyle every now and then
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| But mostly off the joint
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| See I smoke good cuz see it go good wit them flows, why
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| The nigga the b-i-g like tony rich nobody knows why
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| But me and my folks, cuz yall niggas jokes like the joker
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| Im sick of these wack ass rappers like Im tired of hoes in chokers
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| Who dem boyz that be havin the cronk every occasion
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| This side niggaz dustin, that side niggaz lacin
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| But in the middle we stay calm, we just drop bombs
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| Askin where we come from… south post lodge
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| Its just two dope boyz in a cadillac (2x)
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| Verse two: andre, big boi
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| This ol sucka mc stepped up to me
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| Challenged andre to a battle and I stood there patiently
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| As he spit and stumbled over cliches, so called freestylin
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| Whole purpose just to make me feel low, I guess you whylin
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| I say look boi, I aint for that fuck shit; |
| so fuck this
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| Let me explain on this child style so you dont miss
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| I grew up to myself not round no park bench
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| Just a nigga bustin flows off in apartments
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| Now who dem boyz that be havin the cronk every occasion
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| This side niggaz dustin, that side niggaz lacin
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| But in the middle we stay calm, we just drop bombs
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| Askin where we come from… south post slums
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| Verse three: big boi, andre
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| It goes chromes to the fleetwoods, coups to the villes
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| Hittin girbauds and off these flows we havin the playa chill
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| In this atmosphere this aint no practice here we cuttin the fool now
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| Im doin ya at the house and throwin you out because Im through now
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| Dont you love the way we clamin bankhead, stankhead
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| Lookin around the swats for the herb thats never tainted
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| Fainted when you heard the bourbon servin on the block
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| And all you bitin indivuals need to check yourselfs and stop
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| Yeah tight like nuts and bolts, sluts and hoes that get evicted
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| Im dealin wit queens in my castle aint worth to risk it Now tricks be lookin at me like Im they way up out the pro-jects
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| Cant put you on my payroll, and no I aint got no rolex
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| Or no diamond at the exit with a sign sayin «well rap for food»
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| My face is bawled up cuz I aint in a happy mood
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| While my partner got the squeegee and the windex
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| Cuz somewhere in my life I done went wrong jus like a syntax
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| Error, bring the terror to your dome like p.e.
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| Prone to finish this out cuz this be a free-style
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| Now who dem boyz that be havin the cronk every occasion
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| This side niggaz dustin, that side niggaz lacin
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| But in the middle we stay calm
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| We just drop… |