[B Stille]
Yooooo!
I said Yooooo!
For all them industry haters that said we couldn`t do it...
This for my country thug street yeagas!
You know we gon`
[Hook]
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood
Nickel bag of funk`ll make a country yeaga sleep good
Yo` hood, my hood, tote heat, sho` should
Folk round here be up to no good
[Verse 1]
[Skinny Deville]
My yeaga lookin like one of them days
I got a Franklin in my pocket, with this lint like a slave
And 20 cent to my name, tryna make this crime pay
Money spent, Ben gone, left me with the Hamil-ton
Window tint, same ol` song
Lincoln on a sack, with the fifty-dat
Bump my song, Get drunk, get it crunk
Country-fried, pack a blunt
Erything tight, Volume 2 off in the trunk, bump
In a slump, head-shot got me pumped like a gauge
Turn the page, flip the script
Hit the script jump, shorty with the dump
In the hatchback, ass fat
Nickel bag of funk, caught a skunk in a rat trap
Sat back, hit it once, hit it twice, pass that
Mashed-out, Fleetwood, Cadillac, headed South
Woodgrain, Pure Grain, hold it in and let it out
Bouncin` like a bunny hunny, tell the shorty set it out
Get in where we fit in, we gon` try our best to sell it out
[Hook 2x]
[Verse 2]
[B Stille]
We makes it hot for `em, feel the flames
Who seperate the real from lames
Yeaga B Stille`s his name
(Where you from?)
The Ville, LaGrange, to Mills and Fane
Look how far Louisville`s done came!
Now break it down
I like my pockets fat
And my weed green
And my liquor brown
And my hens clean
With they panties down
And a beat that k