CunninLynguists - The South Lyrics
* send corrections to the typist[SOS]Aw yeah, welcome to the South everybodyCreepin up outta the dirty south unexpectedly hittin ya headlike a stick of lead whippin you, flippin you outta bedCause on my block the sidewalk can sizzle an eggand we as hip hop as a cripple with dreads missin a legvisitors get addicted and don't wanna leaveblowin on trees from Kentucky to the Florida keysHumidity floats in the breezeand this is the only place where shorties can go to the beach and grow double D'slike GOOD JESUS. Let me rub some lotion on your cleavagecause where we live summertime lasts about four seasonsParties are real loud. Car systems got clear soundsBirds fly here in winter. Chickens are here year roundand they ass is meaner, the grass is greener and tap is cleanerFollow me and any questions just ask the leadersand the blunted genius of CunninLynguists spittin it clearSippin beer on a postcard like, "I wish you were here."[Deacon the Villian]So come on down, show and tell with some southern bellestricks with treats you don't keep in a pumpkin pailhospitality? we treat our company wellfrom Kentucky bails of hay way down to Florida shellsgals with chunky tails, lookin' like something swellniggaz and negrelles smoked out on country trailsyou try and visit actin' ignant and startin' hellyour trip'll last about as long as the XFLhere, the weather's hotstreets? we keep em blockedmardi gras in every spot like we live in a land without some clocksfrom them Virginia docks, to Mississippi cropsswing through Atlanta where them switches be liftin' shocksso please leave all trash in the Herbie-Curbiewelcome to the dirty dirty, home of them purdy-girliesbirdies ready for flight, dawgs ready to bitethe southern south-paw, but everything is all-right[Chorus][SOS & Deacon the Villian]But in the dirty south everything ain't all peacefulWe still got racist people with inflated egosgot foul cops shootin at niggas like we some free throwsrough nights, bug bites from Jumangi mosquitoesFiends that hug pipes, drug life, pills and needlesstreets with much hype and some like to kill peopleand if you don't want cops cuffin you up after your freak showremember jail baits are developed so check IDs, yoBut still the home of black eyed peas, collard greens, that soul foodThe home of southernplayalistic pimps lettin they hoes looseThe home of that bluegrass, red clay, zephyrhillsCadillac grills, battle rap skillsThe home of Miami Bass, 808's, and spring breaksGirls with tank asses from VA to the Lando LakesThe home of gold fronts, home grown skunk, the home of sippin shineThe home of everything under the mason dixie line[Chorus]
