Bun B You're Everything LyricsArtist: Bun B
Publishers: ©Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC, Royalty Network
Popularity : 0 users have visited this page.
Man fo' real I love being from the dirty south mane
It made me the G I am today
Made me the hustla I am today
The grinda, the baller, the gangsta I am today
A lot of people got opinions, issues, and problems with what they see comin' from the south but we doin well and the south mane, but I'ma tell you like this, **** you dog this the south ***** we been, gonna be here, and we ain't goin no mutha ****in' where
Take it hoe you like it, hate it or love it ho.
It's that candy paint, 84s
Belts and buckles chrome and grill
Leather seats, stitched and tucked
TV screens and wooden wheels
Swade roof, neon lights
Whole tire swang and bang
Top drop, blades chop
Big wheel just hangin' man
White ts, fitted hats
Jordans under dickies (dickies)
That swisha sweet cigoriilas filled up with the stickey
And the base keep kickin'
Cadillac do slammin'
On dem 4 4s tippin'
We ain't trippin' just flippin'
These haters dip when they see us (when they see us)
Cause they can neva beat us best us or be us
I'm a G thats a genius
Besta just respect my duggie man
It's the south, ain't nothin' above it and thats why I love it mane fo' real.
Your everything I need
Do what you want me to (i'll do anything)
Get on my knees for you
What else is there to do (i don't know, I don't know, but I'll try)
Pray at night, when you sellin' white
Got one key tryin' sell it twice
Yellow stones all in my ****
Yellow bones all in my ****
Honeycomb I call my crib
Money long, that's on my kids
I rock Peta, my uncle chad
UGK you can't **** wit' that
*****s fake, they hate my candy-paint
And all the paper that your partner make
Shakin' dice like a face of life
Champaign just ain't tastin' right
Haterade ain't Gatorade
Look at these seats, they gator made
Friend or foe *****s never know (know)
Never know when you finna blow
Do you scrape up the curb
Then was sippin' some syrup
Then was blisted, twisted, since this pimp got in that heard
But I handle my issue
I got several pistols
That won't whistle, missiles not grisled from fatty tissue
Mississippi's my home
Till I'm die and I'm gone
I know I put it on my back, held that ***** up alone
Put no lable but docking
Pride split into fractions
I hit the ocean on heavy bustin' back at the crackin'
Ya'll know (Ya'll know)
Lets talk about Pimp C, Bun B
8 Ball, MJG
Big Boi, Dre 3000
Scarface, Willie D
T.I.P, Young Jeezy
Birdman, Lil Weezy
Trick Daddy, Young Buck
So So Def, Jermaine Depri
J Priss rap a lot
Juicy J, DJ Paul
Slim Thug, Lil Keke
Chamillionare, Paul Wall
We all different, but we all rep the same thang
God first, family then money in the south mane.
They call me pimp tight, MJG
The dirty south, it's everything I want, everything I need
Everything I'm hungry for
When I'm outta town gotta get home just for it
Everything that I been raised to love
The wheels that my Grandmamma gave to us
Racial profilin', police harass are regular days to us
You say door, we say doe'
You say four, we say fo'
You say whore, we say ho'
You want more, but we want mo'
What else is there left for me to do
This the dedication from me to you
The south, I know you gonna see me through
So until I die, I wanna be with you