(feat. Rick Ross, David Banner, 8Ball & MJG)
|
|
|
|
[Bun B]
|
Man f'real I love bein from the Dirty South mayne
|
It made me the G I am today, made me the hustler I am today
|
The grinder, the baller; the gangster I am today mayne
|
Lot of people got opinions and, issues and, problems with
|
what they see comin from the South and who doin what in the South mayne
|
But I'ma tell you like this - FUCK YOU DAWG~! This the South nigga
|
We gon' be here, we been here, and ain't goin no motherfuckin where
|
Take it how you like it, hate it or love it hoe!
|
|
It's that candy paint, 84's, belts and buckles, chrome and grill
|
Leather seats, stitch and tuck, TV screens and wooden wheels
|
Suede roof, neon lights, whole tire swang and bang
|
Tops drop, blades chop, fifth wheel just hangin mayne
|
White T's, fitted hats, Jordans or the dickies (dickies)
|
That Swisher sweet, cigarillos filled up with the sticky (sticky)
|
The fifteens bam'n and the bass kick-kickin
|
Cadillac do's slammin on them po'-po's tippin
|
We ain't trippin just flippin these haters dip when they see us (dip when they see us)
|
Cause they could never beat us best us or be us
|
I'm a G that's a genius, best to just respect my thuggin mayne
|
It's the South, ain't nothin above it and that's why I love it mayne!
|
F'real
|
|
[Chorus: Jodeci samples]
|
You're everything I knew! (Ohh yeah)
|
Do what you want me to (I will doooooooo anything)
|
Get on my knees for you (ohhhhhhhhhh bab-bayyy)
|
What else is there to do (I don't know, I don't know, but I'll cry)
|
|
[Rick Ross - talking over Chorus second half]
|
Yeah, keepin it trilla baby; Texas, P.A. to H-Town
|
3-oh-5 to Mi-Yayo... you know what it is
|
|
Pray at night when you sellin white, got one ki' tryin to sell it twice
|
Yellow stones all in my shit, yellowbones all on my dick
|
Honeycomb I call my crib, money long that's on my kids
|
R.I.P. to my Uncle Chad, UGK you can't fuck wit that
|
Niggaz fake, they hate candy paint, and all the paper that your partner make
|
Shakin dice like a face of life, champagne just ain't tastin right
|
Haterade they Gatorade, look at these seats they gator made
|
Friend or foe niggaz never know (know) never know when you fin' to blow
|
|
[David Banner]
|
Dude scrapin the curb, dippin sippin some syrup
|
Fingers blistered twisted Swishers, Pimp died and it hurt
|
But I handle my issue, I got several pistols
|
that won't whistle, missles knockin gristle from fatty tissue
|
Mississippi's my home, 'til I'm die and I'm gone
|
I know I put it on my back, held that bitch up alone
|
With no label b-backin, pride split into fractions
|
I hit the ocean on peggy bustin back at the crackin
|
And y'all scared (y'all scared)
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[Eightball]
|
Lets talk about Pimp C, Bun B, Eightball, MJG
|
Big Boi, Dre 3000, Scarface, Willie D
|
T.I.P, Young Jeezy, Birdman, Lil Weezy
|
Trick Daddy, Young Buck, SoSoDef, Jermaine Depri
|
J Prince, Rap-A-Lot, Juicy J, DJ Paul
|
Slim Thug, Lil' Keke, Chamillionare, Paul Wall
|
We all different but we all rep the same thang
|
God first, family then money in the South mayne
|
|
[MJG]
|
They call me PEEIMP TYTE! MJG
|
The Dirty South, is everything I want
|
Everything I need, everything I'm longin for
|
when I'm outta town gotta get home, just for
|
Everything that I been raised to love, the wisdom my grandmomma gave to us
|
Racial profilin, police harassment regular days to us
|
You say door, we say do'; you say four, we say fo'
|
You say whore, we say hoe; you want more, but we want mo'
|
What else is there left for me to do?
|
This the dedication from me to you
|
The South, I know you gonna see, me through
|
So until I die I wanna be, wit'chu
|
You're everything
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
-----------------
|
You're Everything
|
Bun B |