| I’m worth a million, even though I’m in my house shoes
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| She see money in motion, everytime my mouth move
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| I’m such an executive, but I am so South too
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| Rifles in all of my rides, under the couch too
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| When I roll up in that Bentley, guess what her mouth do
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| It open up and don’t close, like a do' house do
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| You can get some of this penis, but it’s gon' cost you
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| Cause everyday I’m hustling, like Rick Ross do
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| I use to move a lil' hard, lil' soft too
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| Now somebody move it for me, I’m a boss boo
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| If you was a regular broad, I would of lost you
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| Street smart, somebody done already taught you
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| She a red head, but she love the way I floss blue
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| Fuck you to sleep, and steal your shit I showed her how to
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| She ain’t a scary bitch, she’ll bust you in your mouth too
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| Football player with that work, she run a route too
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| Southern girl, (yeah she a down South bitch)
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| That’s all I need in my southern world, (yeah I’m on that down South shit)
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| Yeah-yeah Southern giiiiiiiiiirl, yeah yeah yeah-e-yeah
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| I’m on that down South shit, rolling with my down South bitch
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| Got a thick bitch, down in Memph'
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| 8 Ball shit, Space Age Pimp
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| And my hoes, they don’t wear no panties
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| Pick em up, in a white Rolls or the Phantom
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| A young nigga, use to rock gold teeth
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| Before the rap shit, I would send a whole key
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| Hoe please, never been a trick
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| Always been a real nigga, on some boss shit
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| Always had a red hoe, that was gun thick
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| She always had stupid head, that would cum sick
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| Down South bitch, I’m talking Atlanta
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| Soul food eater, went to school in Alabama
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| I’m talking bow leg, met her at the galleria
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| Long hurr fat ass, man you gotta see her
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| She for real, bitch run round in a Kia
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| Put her in the Bentley coupe, and moved her to the crib
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| Southern girl, (yeah she a down South bitch)
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| That’s all I need in my southern world, (yeah I’m on that down South shit)
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| Yeah-yeah Southern giiiiiiiiiirl, yeah yeah yeah-e-yeah
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| I’m on that down South shit, rolling with my down South bitch
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| I use to be an asshole, now I’m a grown man
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| King of the Ghetto, while ruling over my own land
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| Regular women, ain’t invited to my home man
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| Pretty face big booty, whip up a zone hand
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| That ain’t sweet and sour chicken, cooking in the kitchen
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| And that ain’t just her homegirl, they both into licking
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| She’ll set you up for that paper, place you into position
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| Them thangs or your life, one of em coming up missing
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| She cornbread fed, almost thicker than my pocket
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| Already came five times, but she ain’t stopping
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| She fuck with rich niggas, but she don’t be name dropping
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| When you see her with them rich niggas, bet she ain’t bopping
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| Always see her from the back, she never face front
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| Never turn to comb my hair, that’s why she rock a lace front
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| Ain’t no handcuffing, you can taker her home today brah
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| She don’t belong to Mr. McVey brah, homie she’s a
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| Southern girl, (yeah she a down South bitch)
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| That’s all I need in my southern world, (yeah I’m on that down South shit)
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| Yeah-yeah Southern giiiiiiiiiirl, yeah yeah yeah-e-yeah
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| I’m on that down South shit, rolling with my down South bitch |