CHORUS: (Nelly) Its a Midwest thang yall And aint got a clue (Aint got a clue) Why my Cutlass blue And I got them thangs On that motherfucker too Its a Midwest Swang yall Aint gotta trip (Aint gotta trip) While we swing and dip (Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay) Cause we do big thangs On the motherfuckin hip What you think, we live on a farm? Nigga, be for real We got Benzs, Rovers and Jags Hummers and Devilles Got a green S Class Aint broke the do seal Sh*t aint been the same Since I signed Fo Reel This sh*t got ill, when I hit 4 mil Five and countin, dirty six at will Did seven on the slide, 8 worldwide Ill be on my third Bentley By the time Im at 9 I hear em cryin "You gon sell out" Ya damn right I done sold out before And re-caught the same night Straight hopped the next flight Too Icey for sunlight Dunkin without Sprite Yeah you heard me dirty Im from the Show-Me State Show me seven Ill show you eight Karats in one bling Heavily starched jeans Representin St. Louis Everytime I breathe In the city I touch down And I bob and weave, ay Repeat chorus (Murphy Lee:) I sport my beeper on my boots Thats why I be a buzz when I kick Maybe its on my lips Its chaos when I spit Quarter man, quarter Schoolboy, half Lunatic Quarter rubber, quarter dick Other half in yo chick Keep a quarter of some sh*t Im the Pookey of the backyard All colors and all types like a junkyard High young boy with high young ways Cause I connect three blunts And be high for three days You can tell by the way I walk I aint from round hurr (here) Probably couldnt tell cause I aint walkin nowhurr (nowhere) I got a old-school Cutlass With a hole in the urr (air) TVs urrwhurr (everywhere) Wood grain to sturr (stare) I dont curr (care) Hell naw I aint cuttin my hurr (hair) To the half in them Airforce 1s Give me two purr (pair) ugh Im from the Lou and What I do is a Lou thang One rapper, two rings And three chains (Kyjuan) Nothing but some ole country boys That ride V12 horses Saddle up and put Spurs on my Airforces Back porches made for Hide and go seek We got space out here We can ride and cheif Aint gotta worry bout Nobody approachin us By the time they catchin up We smoked it up And my eyes be red My lips a lil dark St. Louis sportin the Rams Cards and lil Arch My dirtys love to spark And love to sparkle Love homies Vokal coats With matchin car dos (doors) We racin down sneakers See how fast a car go Granny be like "Ay, ya ya" Like Ricky Ricardo I know you wanna know Why we do what we do You cats aint got a clue Why the Cutlass blue Brand new 22s on new UPs With one, two, three Four, five TVs Repeat chorus (Big Lee A.K.A. Ali:) Im sittin on the front porch Writin a hood rhyme Waitin on my connect To deliver that good line Wish I would find One seed in my weed Sticks and shit If I do somebody bleed Pull right here Eight pounds of Chinamen Two stank bitches Some blunts and Heineken Hidin in the back with the po po Kicked in my dodo Man they some ho hooos They put the gun to my earr You know the Lord dont fear Nann nigga, nann hoe Lets keep that bullshit clearr They had me face Down in the skreet (street) Errbody (everybody) Watchin, thinkin Imma pull the heat And leave the D-tects with A leak in the skreet (street) And that, pussy ass nigga That set me up my peeps Gon give it to this nigga like NYPD Beat the K, fuck coke Now Im back on my Granny poche (porch) hustlin
Artist: St. Lunatics
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