snoop did it for the westcoast..
now it's my turn..holla at the south!
The industry is homogenous, niggaz killin the south/
What happened to days of scarface when he was peelin caps in ya mouth/
And goodie mob was strippin these bitches off of their blouse/
With sick rhyme vocabulary that’ll tap these fiends right out/
We just outkast in the game so I’m sorry Ms Jackson/
We run streets shoutin ‘hey ya’ like andre 3000/
And I love the way you move ain’t no doubt about that
And them kings is cookin crack..now what you know about that!
flip a real rap song into crunk, killin our ancestors from it’s purest form/
rap is dead? I’m gonna resurrect hiphop is the reborn/
we torn it down with a buncha watered down commercial bullshit
and truth be told cause we the new potential full script/
the only way you punk me is when you rollin with ashton kutcher/
we living bad so no more suffering this hunger/
niggaz around my way won’t believe me until I bust it/
and you don’t seem to need me until I kill it like weezy on the suffix/
I put my hands together as I stand through the weather/
Life’s a bitch so I’m sending ‘cham’ a few letters/
So I can reform this verse together and then rehearst it/
Get nervous when I bust with the purpose of tryna avoid the close curtains/
Now it’s time to shine with the lyrics that I confirm to be certain/
Let’s face it, don’t replace it just embrace it..
Because my flow is colder than those dying and naked/
I smoke agent orange, bathed in napalm./
I spray yall with guerrilla wares like king kong
So ya’ll can sing songs but ya’ll still ain’t real to me../
You think I’m sick? Shit I spit viles in trilogies/
I’m sicker than aid patients, a brain tumor and sickle cell disease/
And I pave the way for these niggaz like Master P/
Like a no limit airlines….’I fly Independently’/
That’s what the south is about…from beneath the gutta/
Did I stutter? We bringing back true soul like little brother/
So I unload these clips into you coz my mind is bent like cunninlynguist/
Since these snipe cops assassinated our political lyricist/
Death took me too far so with god I always look up/
Like clipse in the kitchen cookin up the lyrics..yup/
While satan tries to push sins to the limit…he’s a real looka/
Cookin coca when pusha-T pushed grains../
And malice was the stray of ways maayne/
Every day they tell us lies and they pave our graves/
New Orleans in trouble, politics got more lies than ray ray/
Like cash money records, niggaz gets more like paid day/
I got the heart of a lion so just come kill me/
And deep fry saulty and grill emcees/
With the burners and macks, they say hip hop wouldn’t last/
Now 20 years later a buncha millionaires…latino and black/
now it's my turn..holla at the south!
The industry is homogenous, niggaz killin the south/
What happened to days of scarface when he was peelin caps in ya mouth/
And goodie mob was strippin these bitches off of their blouse/
With sick rhyme vocabulary that’ll tap these fiends right out/
We just outkast in the game so I’m sorry Ms Jackson/
We run streets shoutin ‘hey ya’ like andre 3000/
And I love the way you move ain’t no doubt about that
And them kings is cookin crack..now what you know about that!
flip a real rap song into crunk, killin our ancestors from it’s purest form/
rap is dead? I’m gonna resurrect hiphop is the reborn/
we torn it down with a buncha watered down commercial bullshit
and truth be told cause we the new potential full script/
the only way you punk me is when you rollin with ashton kutcher/
we living bad so no more suffering this hunger/
niggaz around my way won’t believe me until I bust it/
and you don’t seem to need me until I kill it like weezy on the suffix/
I put my hands together as I stand through the weather/
Life’s a bitch so I’m sending ‘cham’ a few letters/
So I can reform this verse together and then rehearst it/
Get nervous when I bust with the purpose of tryna avoid the close curtains/
Now it’s time to shine with the lyrics that I confirm to be certain/
Let’s face it, don’t replace it just embrace it..
Because my flow is colder than those dying and naked/
I smoke agent orange, bathed in napalm./
I spray yall with guerrilla wares like king kong
So ya’ll can sing songs but ya’ll still ain’t real to me../
You think I’m sick? Shit I spit viles in trilogies/
I’m sicker than aid patients, a brain tumor and sickle cell disease/
And I pave the way for these niggaz like Master P/
Like a no limit airlines….’I fly Independently’/
That’s what the south is about…from beneath the gutta/
Did I stutter? We bringing back true soul like little brother/
So I unload these clips into you coz my mind is bent like cunninlynguist/
Since these snipe cops assassinated our political lyricist/
Death took me too far so with god I always look up/
Like clipse in the kitchen cookin up the lyrics..yup/
While satan tries to push sins to the limit…he’s a real looka/
Cookin coca when pusha-T pushed grains../
And malice was the stray of ways maayne/
Every day they tell us lies and they pave our graves/
New Orleans in trouble, politics got more lies than ray ray/
Like cash money records, niggaz gets more like paid day/
I got the heart of a lion so just come kill me/
And deep fry saulty and grill emcees/
With the burners and macks, they say hip hop wouldn’t last/
Now 20 years later a buncha millionaires…latino and black/
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