[ Verse 1 ]      [ Deacon ]   We flava the music, chop this screw that   take you through church in a verse til you view fact   holy ghost, from the lowly coast, spit humility   facin critics cold fronts, blockin our humidity   [ Natti ]   We own rap   [ Deacon ]   fo sho as cognac'll twist yo dome back   our tracks? see, they be nappy   [ Natti ]   but you can't comb that   [ Deacon ]   call it el natural sound of soul   you ain't seen these darts or how fast they've flown   [ Natti ]   From, 'tween these parts and the ones 'nere known   my slang bang with a twang and hang on earlobes   you hear natti, hot as caddies   with no steerin column on 'em   [ Deacon ]   with enough lines to dry all the clothes that you own   [ Natti ]   since when did the south   [ Deacon ]   get pinned in a drought   [ Natti ]   not never been clever since Bic pens been about   reaching wheva levels that'll suspend any doubt   that we as bad as yo kids when this mics to our mouth      [ Hook ]   I can hear em talkin 'bout Southern folk can't rhyme   some of y'all must out ya got damn mind   yeah, it's about that time, we got that shine   and niggaz been about them lines   Since When?   ever since A Pocket Full of Stones   Ridin Dirty in a Chevy, sittin heavy on chrome   ever since Goodie Mo had food for soul   and them dirty Red Dawgs done hit the do'   Since When?      [ Verse 2 ]   [ Natti ]   The Mason-Dixon Line, been across ya mind   like night-sticks   rain down on the game and fuck it up like white kicks   i might switch, southpaw,   [ Deacon ]   knuckle to jaw   [ Natti ]   if another broke nigga spit about spendin it all   i spit the gems that you splurge to put around ya neck   so save that to pay back all your loans and debts   [ Deacon ]   A Maybach and a plaque? is that all you get? shhhit   [ Natti ]   we struggle to juggle talent with a helluva sales pitch   [ Deacon ]   Standin on southern dirt that helped America get rich   ye' ain't gotta struggle with a shovel to dig this   cold as no power, after hours in the winter months   hot though   [ Natti ]   Crock-pot flow   [ Deacon ]   so here dinner comes   walk them sheltoes down underground railroads   [ Natti ]   Niggaz fresh outta jail clothes, spittin like hell's close   [ Deacon ]   And these words aint slurred,   maybe how you listenin's blurred   you ain't feelin sickness served??   muhfucka kiss a curb,      [ Hook ]