Southern Smoke..       [Hook]    You hear a lot of music, but it's boring    You hear a lot of flows, but don't enjoy 'em    You hear a lot of albums, and you snoring    But the truth is back, now they say where you been    Cause we ain't really seen you out performing    You back up in the streets, you hot you're boiling    Chamillitary click, is the click they wanting    You know that OG Ron C, gon screw it for them       [Chamillionaire]    A lot of DJ's, didn't wanna mess with the kid    But like dancers that love to strip, they back up on my dick    And of course, maybe it's because of the fact that I'm rich    And the diamonds up on my wrist, look like a package of piss    Looked like they pissed, in a ice cube tray    Put it in the freezer, so by the next day    They could put it on my wrist, so that I could display    Yellow ice looks like butter, but it isn't parquet    Hey, well let me tell you how I did it then    Stepped up the mixtapes, and put 'em in every city man    Send 'em Greyhound, in every other city and    Wallet the size of Guerilla Black's, or Biggie's hand (baby-baby)    And I got plenty mo' to do dog, that's true y'all    Chamillitary is the click, if that's what you thought    Yellow green red white blue, and my new jaw    Check out the paint, same colors cover my new car    When it come to getting fed, I'm the baker with the bread    Know exactly what they said, voices ain't just in my head    Get back up in the streets, so the rumors can be dead    Cause I'm the rapper that they dread, like Lil' Wayne's head    Bumba claat watch, now watch me I'm the one to watch    One with a lot of colored cubes, and a bunch of blocks    And the watch, and them girls that be coming out    The closet with a friend, meet her I just wanna watch    Chamillion-ator's on the way, that's who saving the day    After the math I bust a rhyme, rapping after you pay    Niggaz say they songs jamming, yeah that's just what they say    Like Part 2 of that Kelly song, they end up being gay    But it ain't Weezy, it ain't even B.G    Because how much I push the cash money, they don't believe me    Turn on the DVD, and the c.d    Don't watch me, homeboy watch T.V    Head rest, 7.5 Clarion    You ain't trying to see me shine, you could carry on    Haters hate, and that's the reason that I carry one    Make a home run and run home, like Barry Bonds    Yeah, I got 'em shook in a towel    Ron Artest of rap ha-ha, look at me now    Single handedly, handle the suckers up in the crowd    Fist to your lip you'll get whipped, while they kicking me out    Ouch, cause that looked like it hurt    And the worst part about it, is it looks like the dirt    Getting acquainted with your shirt, become one with the turf    As I watch you fall down, and tell you just what you worth    You no good, dirty rotten scoundrel    I pull these hoes, like promoters out of town do    I get mail, like workers in the color brown do    Chamillion you're the best, can't nobody out sound you    Chad Hugo to Pharrell, I'm the star on the track    Look at my diamonds, and see how many broads they attract    And it's true in the studio, they on my balls and my sack    Say it's a hit, before Chamillionaire even start on a track    I pull up in slow motion, like my car on a flat    Trunk going up, like directions that you saw on a map    I wear the multi-colors now, but that's part of the fact    That I stay throwing up the rocks, like the Carter was back    It's the Roc, psyche nigga it's not    But it's prolly a rock sized bullet, up in it's pop    Sorry mayn I forgot, to put the heater on lock    But didn't forget the underground, lock it up for my spot    I'm back, and I'm too hot       [Hook]       Southern Smoke, Southern Smoke