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Once again up in that south from my motherfucking mouth

and creeping up on y’all niggas like a motherfucking mouse

Stepping on these tracks like fags and drag queens

And shitting on you busters like I ate some bake beans

Buster me and me’s clicks, always making those hits

We never straight jam with no busters our no tricks

Getting in trouble from the sounds of my trunk

and keeping it crunk, keeping it crunk

Chorus: What, What (in background)

Now drop dem bozs’ on ’em

Nigga bozs’ bout to turn out the show

Crankin’ up yo’ dance flo’ screaming GA hoe

Flipping rhymes and gripping pines with haters looking round

It’s time lay it down putting it all up on the line

Ain’t no love for haters, smoking doug’s potatoes

All these niggas what they made us from dem’ boz and craters

While lame done dipped out, we gained the flip flop

Underground where we dwell, the hell with hip hop

Southside just reckless, from GA to Texas

And next it’s gone be me flexing in a suburban or lexus

But it seem like the bigger I be, mo’ figures I see

The mo’ hating niggas try me

Big baby trick crazy thinking he bout’ to fade me

Better sit and wait in consequences fo’ you feel you can play me

>From a place called T-town be down in the south

Where dem’ players throw dem’ boz and gold teeth in they mouth

And dump dump if ya’ jump jump

The club crunk off the funk that we bump bump and pump pump

through yo’ speaker when it reach ya’ now you tweaking like Beaker

All the people out there hype as hell, I guess it Lil’ Peter

>From T-town to Atlanta all the way to Savannah to Alabama

I be damn a club ain’t crunk in this manner

I can’t stand a weak buster

For all the freaks, hustla’s, to the clothes

Y’all gotta get it crunk and drop dem boz, drop dem boz


I can’t afford bigger, how ya’ figga’

that you gone stop me from stacking six figures

Now you hating on me, because my game so tight

And could you be mad because I fucked ya’ wife

Well it’s true, that’s the price nigga check that hoe

I’m from the ATL player, wear that reckland ro’

So stop talking all that shit, and trying to buck

I’m popping off at the mouth, we get cha’ fucked up, now what’s up

Now ladies are you tired of trick bitches in yo’ mix

Acting like they want, to lick on yo’ shit

Critizing, everything that you do

and telling ya’ who, and who not to screw

Nasty hoes, that ain’t clean and shit

They go around sucking on every dope boys dick

Now is these hoes really yo’ friend or yo’ foes

You tell me, while ya’ drop dem’ bozs’


Now if the club packed y’all from wall to wall

And everybody trying to ball, coz sizing all

Ain’t nothing but love in the air, we geeing and macking

Some haters off in there, but at least they ain’t macking

You got cha’ cup filled up, ya’ niggas is crunk

Put cha’ hands in the air represent where ya’ from

I’m from the GA baby, where freaks is shady

Man it can be so crazy, so we burn trees daily

When the beat a drop, everybody just lock ya’ boz and shake dem’ hoes

And proceed to rock, from the front to the back

with the blunts and gats, on the hunt for some cat or a fat ass sack

Tear da’ roof off the club, show you niggas some love

and fill a swishe up with bud for my g’s and thugs

Now dem’ haters keep watching, dem’ freaks a jockin’

the beats is rockin’, so partner want you keep on dropping

for my thugs


Now right now I want all my hard niggas to follow me, follow me

Bridge: what (until fade)

That’s how these motherfuckers die, they with the shit talk

(repeat 7X)

免費試用 Kindle unlimited 電子書包月服務 30天,試用入口:https://amzn.to/341Dqhf

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