(feat. Twista & Bluesman Ceddy St. Louis)
|
|
|
|
[Intro: Bluesman Ceddy St. Louis]
|
Please settle downs, everybody sit down
|
Sit down for a second, Mildred!
|
Mildred, get yo' goddamn feet off the table
|
(It's a Big E beat!) C'mon now, shit
|
This is, this is why we don't ever have nothin man
|
It's a good evenin here, Ceddy St. Louis
|
This right here about to bring to the stage
|
is a gentleman from Port Arther, Texas
|
Real gentleman, real singer, real story teller
|
Real gangsta, a true veteran of the bid'ness
|
Y'all show him some love, talk to 'em Bun
|
|
[Bun B]
|
Thank y'all for comin to see me this evenin (yeah)
|
Cookin this cajun I laced it with seasonin (huh)
|
In here, I been here and don't plan on leavin
|
The king of the trill's 'bout to pass, who's receivin?
|
I'm throwin, I'm throwed on, the mic I explode
|
Slow all that bangin mayne just like my load
|
Don't test me or stress me, I'm in that mode
|
where I could just black out and leave yo' ass flo'ed
|
Benzes and Beamers I drove 'em and slabbed 'em
|
Big booty hoes I exposed 'em and grabbed 'em
|
Take 'em right out of they clothes and I have 'em
|
They pussy is golden (what) my dick is platinum
|
And hard as a diamond, I'm hard when I'm rhymin
|
I'm closer to God, like Eric B. I'm in
|
that get money frame of mind, any day and time
|
That's what this is and shit ain't no shame in mine
|
|
[Interlude: Bluesman Ceddy St. Louis ad libbing]
|
|
[Bun B]
|
Back on that bullshit so bring in the cattle
|
Ready for war so let's get to the battle
|
Niggaz is babies with bottles and rattles
|
The street lights is on, it's your curfew, ske-daddle
|
That all you got G? You comin up short
|
You ain't got the muscle, you ain't got the heart
|
You need actin classes, you can't play the part
|
Yo' mind ain't on money you need to get smart
|
I'm known to spit darts that'll land in the center
|
Right in the red for the breadwinner in her
|
Stack in the summer, the ball in the winter
|
I'm grippin that wood (shit) just got a splinter
|
You's a beginner, a novice, a rookie
|
How you got bricks when you can't cop a cookie?
|
We after paper, you after the nookie
|
You bet against me and you lost, pay the bookie
|
|
[Interlude: Bluesman Ceddy St. Louis ad libbing]
|
|
[Twista]
|
Twista~!
|
They can never run in my shoes, they know nothin 'bout the ones and the twos (nope)
|
Murder to the drums when I bruise, Twista killin them with Bun and the Blues (yup)
|
Competition better study harder cause I feel like we done found another tune (tune)
|
They gon' try to to be like Muddy Waters, I'ma be the man howlin at the moon (arooo!)
|
Comin up and standin on my stack (stack) a veteran but keep my lyrics dope (dope)
|
And you still listen out the ride (ride) I ain't even got a car note (nope)
|
Y'all ain't snappin cause you wicked crushed and I'ma get 'em, I could tell her (tell her)
|
Fall dash rapper when you tell 'em bust, he can even spit the a cappella ('pella)
|
He can even come right off the top (no) he don't kill 'em even though he crumb (no)
|
He can only kill 'em in the studio when somebody can help him make a song (yeah)
|
Ask me why I don't hear it, I told ya
|
It's nothin but bullshit lyrics in yo' folder (ha ha!)
|
On the blues we come colder, Bun B's a boa
|
constrictor, Twista inflicts the pain of a cobra
|
Flame and I'ma show ya, the remains of a soldier
|
Down home blues killin niggaz in the game, 'til it's over
|
|
[Outro: Bluesman Ceddy St. Louis ad libbing]
|
|
-----------------
|
Speakeasy
|
Bun B |