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Nappy Roots
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No Good
Lyricist:Melvin Adams, Kenneth Ryan Anthony, William Rahsaan Hughes, Brian J Kidd, Brian K Scott, Vito Tisdale, Ron Wilson
Yooooo I said yooooo For all them industry haters that said we couldn't do it This for my country thug street yeagas You know we gon'
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood Nickel bag of funk'll make a country yeaga sleep good Come on, yo' hood, my hood, tote heat, sho' should Folk round here be up to no good
My yeaga lookin' like one of them days I got a Franklin in my pocket, with this lint like a slave And 20 cent to my name, tryna make this crime pay Money spent, Ben gone, left me with the Hamil-ton Window tint, same ol' song Lincoln on a sack, with the fifty-dat Bump my song, get drunk, get it crunk Country-fried, pack a blunt Evr'ything tight, volume 2 off in the trunk, bump
In a slump, head-shot got me pumped like a gauge Turn the page, flip the script Hit the script jump, shorty with the dump In the hatchback, ass fat Nickel bag of funk, caught a skunk in a rat trap Sat back, hit it once, hit it twice, pass that Mashed-out, Fleetwood, Cadillac, headed south Woodgrain, pure grain, hold it in and let it out Bouncin' like a bunny hunny, tell the shorty set it out Get in where we fit in, we gon' try our best to sell it out
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood Nickel bag of funk'll make a country yeaga sleep good Come on, yo' hood, my hood, tote heat, sho' should Folk round here be up to no good
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood Nickel bag of funk'll make a country yeaga sleep good Come on, yo' hood, my hood, tote heat, sho' should Folk round here be up to no good
We makes it hot for 'em, feel the flames Who separate the real from lames Yeaga B Stile's his name (Where you from?) The Ville, Lagrange, to mills and fane Look how far Louisville's done came Now break it down
I like my pockets fat And my weed green And my liquor brown And my hens clean With they panties down And a beat that keep My yeagas bouncin', bouncin', bouncin', bouncin'
Check, check My mic vocals, is like choke-holds Fetch the billfold that my cheese is in And purchase a nickel to help me breathe again I'm from a place where blood spills and stains Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com Filled with drug deals and gangs Yeagas with gold grills and thangs Drink up, fill ya tanks, spill ya drinks It's Nappy, dawg, untamed Southern slang, unchanged We sendin' slugs through ya brain (Fuck what you know, good) And all my thugs, for the sane
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood Nickel bag of funk'll make a country yeaga sleep good Come on, yo' hood, my hood, tote heat, sho' should Folk round here be up to no good
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood Nickel bag of funk'll make a country yeaga sleep good Come on, yo' hood, my hood, tote heat, sho' should Folk round here be up to no good
A cool cat, with a pimp hat Cup fulla gin-jack Dreaded out, throwin' up deuces When I'm headed out Slice it up and bet it out, 5-0-4 Throw the prices up and set it out Real niggaz never doubt Swerve to the calico, give me a deuce of that Make it 2 of that, pack a tip, flush a optimo Keep the change, got to go
Flirt, tryna talk dirty Georgia-bred, you can tell by my Hawk jersey Hit me up if you get off early Then I dap out, so clean Yo honey actin' mo' mean Napped-out, momma asking me 'What's all that 'bout? I say I got big plans, look slim but mapped-out Country boy with country game Never spittin' nothin' lame Get paid to rap, still a dap like ain't nothin' changed My shit stay Nappy, split ends stay happy Bad threads must've came from his pappy
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood Nickel bag of funk'll make a country yeaga sleep good Come on, yo' hood, my hood, tote heat, sho' should Folk round here be up to no good
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood Nickel bag of funk'll make a country yeaga sleep good Come on, yo' hood, my hood, tote heat, sho' should Folk round here be up to no good
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood Nickel bag of funk'll make a country yeaga sleep good Come on, yo' hood, my hood, tote heat, sho' should Folk round here be up to no good
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood Nickel bag of funk'll make a country yeaga sleep good Come on, yo' hood, my hood, tote heat, sho' should Folk round here be up to no good
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