(Afroman talking)   (Palmdale was like the peak of my life   But Palmdale over with homeboy   I'm fittin to go home cuz)   Please take me back home (you know what I'm sayin)   To Mississippi   (I got my Greyhound ticket right here man   I'm fittin to go back and kick it with my family cuz)   Please take me back home (take a couple pounds of this weed)   To Mississippi   (You shmell me homeboy   Yeah, take them fools back to '82 cuz)      Before South Central, Palmdale flossin   I stayed in a place called Palmer's Crossing   Hattiesburg, Mississippi   Smokin marijuana like a Woodstock hippy   All my homies in Laurel   Beg borrow   Buy my rap tape tomorrow   Tell DJ Pumpkin “Keep it crunckin Clyde”   Request my tape when you go inside   So I can take Jane and girl   To Waynesboro   Fuck their little homegirl   Make her toes curl   Rock their world   Leave with their Auntie Sheryl   She sucks me sucks me   Fucks me fucks me   Cries every time I leave Biloxi   But I hops in the Coup   Cause I gots to go   Scoop another ho   From Tupelo   Hit it once hit it twice, then I hit it again   Hit it in Meridian   Make that bitch rub her clit again   Pinch the nipples on her tit again   Suck my dick until she spit again      [Chorus]   Please take me back home (Hell yeah)   To Mississippi   Crooked letter crooked letter hump-back hump-back   Afroman's the bomb, bump that   Please take me back home (Hell yeah)   To Mississippi   From the delta to the coast   I'm doin the most   Grab your 40 ounce, let's toast.      I sold rock cocaine down in Ellisville   Baseheads hit the pipe, they can tell it's real   Kept my dope stashed with this hoochie   Way down yonder in Eastabuchie   Cops be sweatin outta town dog   Sniffin my car with a hound dog   Separate me from my bitch and shit   Tryin to get my bitch to fuckin snitch and shit   Officer Roscoe P. Coltrane   Runnin warrant checks on the Afroman   But I can't be no hip hop star   Cuffed in the back of some police car   Did you find the gun? NO!   Did you find the dope? NO!   Open up the back door “Well son, you're free to go”   A-F-R-O marijuana cargo   Flossed like a cholow   In a clean low glow   Come on let's all get drunk tonight   I hope I don't fight with a punk tonight   Get nervous   As I swerve this   Cadillac through Purvis      Hope I don't crash when I hit Petal   Get my ass kicked in the white ghetto   Prejudice police won't let me go   So I'ma drive slow   Hide my fro   I was dumb, now I'm dumber y'all   last summer y'all   I fucked all the little girls down in Sumrall   Grabbed my guitar and started pickin a tune   For Nikki and June   Down in Picayune, baby   Just like a shovel I be diggin   All the pretty young women in Wiggins   On the boat   Gulfport   I got my dick down some girl's throat   I can't help it I'm a Crip baby   I think you need to wipe your lip baby   Hula Hula Hula   The whole house ruler   What's up with all the bitches down in Pascagoula   Small towns, small cities   But they still got big ole asses plus titties   Is it a bird? Is it a plane?   It's the hungry hustler Afroman   Flyin through the air in my underwear   Geri curl activator in my hair   I'm in control like Janet when I hit Jackson   Always gettin plenty panty action   McClaine, even McComb   Tell the whole world Mississippi's your home   Yazoo, Columbia and Natchez   I got the weed brother, who got the matches?   Who got the funky DJ that scratches?   Depend on me like my name was patches   First it was a black thing, just the big Willies   Now I roll Phillies   With all the Hillbillies   Never ever thought I'd see the Klu Klux Klan   Buying front row seats for the Afroman   Confederate flags tobacco in their mouth   It's a beautiful thing jumpin off in the South   Afroman, I'm a part of it   Hattiesburg hip hop I'm the start of it   I'm the latest   I'm the greatest   And all you haters, I'll mash you like potatoes   I'll make your girlfriend holler and scream   Then cook me some cornbread and collard greens      [Chorus]      1982, '83, '84   Erin, Broste, Carlos, and Tonto   Tryin to break dance in my B-Boy stance   Micheal Jackson glove, parachute pants   Calvin Gary, Garnett Jones   G-dog cuz, I don't believe we grown   But hey G-dog, you and me'll see dog   Whatever happens cuz, it's you and me dog   Or should I say loc   Cause you my folk   So let's take a toke   Till we croak   I'm a locsta locsta   Hundred spokesta   Drinking everyday like I'm supposed to   Bottle after bottle dog in my lip-a   Flowing on the mic like the Mississippi river      [Chorus - 2X]