| Where you can get good weed good drank, or even get put to rest
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| Down here we rep the Screwed Up Click, or rep the Swishahouse
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| And we don’t play games we gon take aim, or punch you in your mouth
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| On a paper chase for that big bread, H.P.D. |
| act like dick heads
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| Cause they wanna know what we’re smoking, and how much coedine in our big red
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| And we stay draped in VVS diamonds, VS1's
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| And we don’t tolerate jackers, we take jackers to Vietnam
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| Sunday night is well connected, with Big Steve and Captain Jack
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| Tuesday night we at the rocks, with ten cars deep and all them Lacs
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| Jumping stacks dump a gat, steel jabs and quarterbacks
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| Yeah we rapping but it ain’t just rap, money we need all of that
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| Bulgari glasses on my face, hand cannon on my waist
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| Candy blue paint on my ride, Trouble in the front in the back is Grace
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| Joseph McVey that’s my name, and I taste diamonds in my mouth
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| Fuck a nigga named Lloyd Banks, it’s going down in the South
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| Pistol packers and jackers, and bad ass bitches on the track
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| Everybody you come across, trying to stack stacks
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| It’s going down in the South, (going down in the South)
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| It’s going down in the South, (going down in the South)
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| We got diamonds in our mouth, around our arms and round our necks
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| Six or seven days, and we ain’t been to sleep yet
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| It’s going down in the South, (going down in the South)
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| It’s going down in the South, (going down in the South)
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| It all started with a tour of the B.C., to a half of the O. G
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| Some dudes still fish swear, in a spot that’s low key
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| You niggas don’t know me, you so baloni
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| You play in the pig pen, I hang where the folks be
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| We don’t talk to police, leave that to you fonies
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| Disguised as homies, to get me felonies
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| I forever be lonely, just me and my coedine
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| My tech has no beam, my aim is so clean
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| Been at it since 14, you can’t control me
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| So quit the baloni, 'fore I go where your folks sleep
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| Hit your block and it’s on G, the strap sits cozy
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| It claps but don’t speak, leave flats no slowly
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| So don’t provoke me, I was raised in the struggle
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| Good kush and kool-aid, so they stay in a huddle
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| If you call me on the blank runs, the next time it’s double
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| Fuck stunting but if you want, Boss’ll teach you how to hustle
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| Some of my partnas ride blue, some of my partnas ride red
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| And just like I got partnas that’s free, I got partnas in the FED
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| I got partnas in the state, for killing niggas or moving weight
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| I even got niggas in the Army, in Baghdad and Kuwait
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| Every block you pass in H-Town, you gon see a candy ride
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| Whoever driving it gon keep a weapon handy, right by his side
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| Down here jackers don’t hide, they be out all in the open
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| Therefo' when I’m in floss mode, I might shoot anybody that’s approaching
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| Hit a nigga be it a bitch, cause I ain’t ready to dig my ditch
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| Any given time I look like new money, to somebody that wanna get rich
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| Laws harassing as they pass, protect and serve they never do that
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| Instead of love they pull out a billy club, and beat us till we blue black
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| So fuck the laws except Officer Tony, cause he real
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| Behind the badge he a Mo City nigga for life, and that’s why we chill
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| Rest in Peace Big H.A.W.K., I think about you all day all night
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| I’ll see you again one day, whenever I crap out rolling the dice of life |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Going Down In The South , by - Z-Ro. Song from the album Power, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп