[Chorus: x2 Goodie Mob]
I got to feed, the beat, the gat on the seat
Faking ain't these girls fake when they see they face in the paint
Mustard and mayonnaise, and we smoke always
Passing by these haters like we got all A's

[Backbone]
Say say say say Crack, what's the word on the street?
Nothing but hard times, working this concrete
I'm getting dirty looks from niggas, on the next street over
They was in my filthy, fiending getting closer
I'm in my seventy-nine, flying
Mobbed out so they can't see me when I'm riding
They slow me down, holla like we buddy buddy
But at the same time I know these motherfuckers want to mug me
Okay gun play at the one-way one day with you
But I'll do years, if I bust these niggas
Keep point four-five calibers of chrome
I'm, coming forth to carry you home

[Chorus]

[Cee-Lo]
Yo, well you damn right, dig it they call me Sugar Delight
Uh oh hoe, Willie cutting virgin broads tonight
Blowing like a boss, that champion chief in cost
And oh my dual exhaust, will make your shit get lost
There's something bout these guns that give these hoes asthma attacks
These are actual facts, I ain't been in no actual car-jacks
But let me tell you this, I'll burn a nigga ass up to a crisp
Riding with these two glocks, we goin' bounce on off, on the new shocks
My nigga don't hate me, cause I ain't hated, but we related
No one including me, should be underestimate
But don't you dare ride through the SWATS without, at least 30 shots
Cause I'm telling ya, these Southern boys goin' get all they got

[Chorus]

[Khujo]
Pop it in, get to work, brains blow, ?
Off the block before your carcass drop
Can't share nothing with the niggeroles, stealing socks
Out your cornbread dream too, if you got those, leaving deaf hoes
Brown, on the outside, pink, in the middle
Ain't, barring none hundred round draw
Nothing under seventy-five, and I get slick ?
Taking no prisoners cuffed, they die fighting for they freedom
Everytime son, rhymes too pretty'll get your mascara smeared
When they did, my buddy Spanky I bust out in tears
The world would be a better place to live, if it was less queers
I still see, punk ass bitches, bitches

[Chorus]

[Gipp]
Get up off and give me room, activate, motivate
Why'all from the section where the straight shit, straight up off the top
Block for block, yo we got the ??, wait for days
Gone up off the Purple Haze, when you see me call me Mr. Gipp
Shoot em from the hip, every time I'm in my 84 Sedan Deville
Block me off and watch me peel, Big Boi grill riding through the park
On the weekend ain't no stopping keep it dipping that's how we tripping
Looking mean, you too clean behind the glass
Watch yo' ass, keep yo' elbows out the windows
And my hands upon the wood wheel, money in my socks
Looking out, for the cops, and for the haters got a fifty shot
Whatever you want to call it, nigga what? What?

[Chorus]

[T-Mo]
Now watch em slide like some finger licking chicken, bout to start clicking
Hoe better know who the true G's are, I'm the star, brand new car
Dope ki lyrical cascade height, SWATS type, mic soldier
Blowing composer, chief of that doja, told ya when I was older
I wanted to live the good life, money over that bull, got that pull
Stomach full, posse thick, niggas wish, at a young age
Goodie Mo.B., doing they thing, I, pray, for, change
And my players in this game it's insane, how this 'caine
Is bringing em pain, youngin' doing time dying by this grind
A-T-L, fine this just how it's going down
And the sound, watch your mouth in this motherfucking Dirty South
Nigga check it out, dirty swats got spots

[Chorus]

Writer : SHEATS, DAVID A/PICKENS, Y
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing