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[** feat. OutKast:] |
| [8Ball:] |
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Bitch, I ain't got nothing but time, so I'ma get out on these cuts* |
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And grind, keep my mind on cloud twenty-nine |
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My player ways keep me with plenty dimes, |
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See I'ma shine like all six of my gold teeth, |
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When a nigga get through cooking up, this O-Z, |
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All night on the block til the sun rise, |
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My only friend is a glock with the 4-5 |
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Four five in the mornin it don't stop, |
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Day dreamin bout flousin tha drop top, (woop) |
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Blue lights snap me back to reality |
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I hit the alley quick and toss what I got on me |
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Tricks ain't got shit to do but harass, |
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Search tha nigga and took about a three in cash, |
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I guess that's better than gettin locked up, |
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Or gettin jammed with that shit I had rocked up, huh! |
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[Chorus:] |
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Now I heard that the South is where yo folks from, |
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Down in the bottoms where they broke some, |
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Whips cross a nigga back, way back, |
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And now they wonder why we act, how we act, |
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Gold teeth and heavy chevys, and talking slow, |
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Afros & loud ass Italian clothes, |
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People bar-be-quein in the front yard |
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Money from the first of the month card! |
| [8Ball:] |
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If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up! |
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[MJG:] |
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I got a maid cooking grits, with a, outfit, |
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So tight my niggas wanna stay the whole nite |
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Dice game in the kitchen, nigga, T. Lee |
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Nigga drunk singin sounding like tha Bee Gees |
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Ham sam'ich in the driveway, drop top |
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Naked women in tha den playing, hop scotch |
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Thirty bustas in my yard, they be, long gone |
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So hit me and I'ma keep my, phone on |
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I be out turning corners, dranking, one fifth |
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Got some scratches on my rims, cause of one dip |
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Met a broad yesterday, she hit me, ten times, |
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If I diss her it'll take a nigga ten lines |
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MJG standing tall and I, won't fold |
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You can have all the bitches, cause I, don't hold |
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On to any woman like a human hand cuff |
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You got ya hair down baby fuck it, stand up! |
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[Repeat Chorus:] |
| [8Ball:] |
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If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up! |
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[Big Boi:] |
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How many flows can I compose, I drop this slang like lyrical bows, |
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Stickin out just like an OUTKAST, over thornt from StimmerGroves, |
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Like nachos, the lyrics are crispy, crackin when y'all bite, |
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Been had a coke and a smile, now I'm trippin off Yak & Sprite, |
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Y'all just might seem to skunk out, with a girl who chunked out, |
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Below the Mason-Dixon line, real niggas know what I'm talkin about, |
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From Texas, Atlanta, oh man, Alabama, Savannah, |
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The deeper the darker tha dirty south is what I'm after, |
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No laughter, the content of the rhyme may be contagious |
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The Space Age is pimpin this, players comin major, |
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They shot the psycho that sprayed, cut ya wife and played her |
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The player the B.I.G, B.O.I, dope boy rhyme maker, |
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Beats by the layers, of music right here to please you, |
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But if ain't that dirty then patna see we don't need you, |
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You know I'm talkin bout |
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OutKast, Eightball, MJG on y'all punk motherfuckers! |
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[Repeat Chorus:] |
| [8Ball:] |
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If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up! |
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[Andre Benjamin:] |
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You wouldn't understand, if you stood under it (ooh), |
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It's like the more that I talk to you tha dumber that I get, |
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The closer that I walk to you, the further that we stand, |
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Apart distance, nobody has the upper hand but my bodies resistance, |
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So now, throw your filangies in tha ground, |
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I'm still abound, un-believers stay from hell around |
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I found negatives niggas they only keep ya down, |
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Transmitting from Native American burial grounds |
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I carry around, the weight of all worlds on my shoulderpads |
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Um post ta blast space invaders up somebodys dad |
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Serious as Aa-Bb-Cc, if knowledge be the key then |
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But it roasted on the porch, and wait for ya momma to get off work |
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So she can roast yo ass, either to finda open window fast |
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Word to the motherfucker, word to the motherfucker |
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Word to the motherfucker! |
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[Repeat Chorus:] |
| [8Ball:] |
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If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their hear me get ya hands up, |
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If anybody out their feel me get ya hands up! |