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   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