Yeah, uh, East Point, smokes some dank
College Park in the house
Decatur
Uh, Old National got the skanks
Everybody, uh, know what I’m sayin’
Check it
Check it
Well it’s the M-I-crooked letter, ain’t no one better
And when I’m on the microphone you best to wear your sweater
‘Cause I’m cooler than a polar bear’s toenails
“Oh hell, there he go again talking that shit”
Bend corners like I was a curve, I struck a nerve
And now you ’bout to see this Southern playa serve
I heard it’s not where you’re from, but where you pay rent
Then I heard it’s not what you make but how much you spent
You got me bent like elbows, amongst other things, but I’m not worried
‘Cause when we step up in the party; like a mouse, you scurry
So go get your fucking shine box and your sack of nickels
It tickles to see you try to be like Mr. Pickles
Daddy Fat Sax, B-I-G B-O-I
Is that same motherfucker that took them knuckles to your eye
And I try to warn you not to test, but you don’t listen
Giving a shoutout to my Uncle Darnell locked up in prison
Now throw your hands in the air
And wave ’em like you just don’t care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, “O-Yea-yer”
Now throw your hands in the air
And wave ’em like you just don’t care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, “O-Yea-yer”
Now, my oral illustration be like clitoral stimulation
To the female gender, ain’t nothing better
Let me know when it’s wet enough to enter
If not I’ll wait, because the future of the world depends on
If or if not the child we raise gon’ have that nigga syndrome
Or will it know to beat the odds regardless of its skin tone?
Or will it feel that if we tune it, it just might get picked on?
Or will it give a fuck about what others say and get gone?
They alienate us ’cause we different keep your hands to the sky
Like Sounds of Blackness when I practice what I preach, ain’t no lie
I’ll be the baker and the maker of the piece of my pie
Now breaker, breaker 10-4 can I get some reply?
Now everybody say
Now throw your hands in the air
And wave ’em like you just don’t care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, “O-Yea-yer”
Now throw your hands in the air
And wave ’em like you just don’t care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, “O-Yea-yer”
Every day I sit while my nigga be in school
Thinking about the second album at The Dungeon shooting pool
Like E-S to the P-N, cause we adjust to the beat in the zone (zone)
Honey, I’m home but I’m not married
Carried a lot of problems around being frustrated
And now I’m sitting at the end of the month I just made it
Like you made the B team, and like your daddy’s wife be making that coffee
You heard the ATLiens, so back the hell up off me
Softly as if I played piano in the dark
Found a way to channel my anger now to embark
The world’s a stage and everybody gots to play their part
God works in mysterious ways, so when He starts
The job of speaking through us, we be so sincere with this here
No drugs or alcohol so I can get the signal clear as day
Put my Glock away, I got a stronger weapon
That never runs out of ammunition, so I’m ready for war, okay
Now throw your hands in the air
And wave ’em like you just don’t care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, “O-Yea-yer”
Now throw your hands in the air
And wave ’em like you just don’t care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, “O-Yea-yer”
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