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You're Everything
Bun B feat. Rick Ross, David Banner, 8Ball, MJG
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Man, for real, I love being from the Dirty South, man
It made me the G I am today, it made me the hustler I am today
The grinder, the baller, the gangster I am today, man
A lot of people got opinions, and issues, and
Problems with what they see coming from the South
And who doing what in the South, man
But I'ma tell you like this: fuck you, dog
This the South, nigga, we gon' be here, we been
Here and ain't going no motherfucking where
Take it how you like it, hate it or love it, ho
It's that candy paint, 84's, belts and buckles, chrome and grill
Leather seats, stitch and tuck, TV screens and wooden wheels
Suede roof, neon lights, Vogue tires swang and bang
Tops drop, blades chop, fifth wheel just singing, man
White tees, fitted hats, Jordan's under Dickies (Dickies)
The Swisher Sweet cigarillos filled up with the sticky (Sticky)
The fifteens bamming and the bass kick-kicking
Cadillac doors slamming on them po-po's tipping
We ain't tripping, just flipping, these haters
Dip when they see us (When they see us)
'Cause they could never be this, bestest, or be us
I'm a G, that's a genius, best to just respect my thugging, man
It's the South, ain't nothing above it, and that's why I love it, man
For real
You're everything I knew, oh yeah
Do what you want me to, I would do anything
Get on my knees for you, ooh, baby
What else is there to do? I don't know, I don't know
But I'll cry
Yeah, keeping it triller, baby
Texas, P.A. to H-Town
305, You my yayo
You know what it is
Pray at night when you selling white
Got one key, trying to sell it twice
Yellow stones all in my shit
Yellow bones all on my dick
Honeycomb I call my crib
Money long, that's on my kids
R.I.P. to my Uncle Chad
UGK, you can't fuck with that
Niggas fake, they hate candy paint
And all the paper that your partner make
I'm shaking dice like I'm facing life
Champagne just ain't tasting right
Haterade ain't Gatorade
Leaking in these seats that gater made
Friend or foe, niggas never know
Never know when you're finna blow
Scraping the curb
Addicted, sipping some syrup
Fingers blistered, twisted Swishers
Pimp died and it hurt
But I handle my issue
I got several pistols
That won't whistle, missiles
Not some gristle from fatty tissue
Mississippi's my home
'Til I die and I'm gone
I know I put it on my back, held that bitch up alone
With no label for backing
Pride split into fractions
I hit the ocean on Peggy, busting back at the cracker
Y'all
You're everything I knew, oh yeah
Do what you want me to, I would do anything
Get on my knees for you, ooh, baby
What else is there to do? I don't know, I don't know
But I'll cry
Let's talk about Pimp C, Bun B, 8Ball, MJG
Big Boi, Dre 3000, Scarface, Willie D
G.I.P., Young Jeezy, Birdman, Lil Weezy
Trick Daddy, Young Buck, So So Def, Jermaine Dupri
J Prince, Rap-A-Lot, Juicy J, DJ Paul
Slim Thug, Lil Keke, Chamillionaire, Paul Wall
We all different but we all rep the same thing
God first, family, then money and the South, man
They call me Pimp, Tight, MJG
The Dirty South is everything I want
Everything I need, everything I'm longing for
When I'm out of town, gotta get home to spoil
Everything that I've been raised to love
The wisdom my grandmama gave to us
Racial profiling, police harassment, regular days to us
You say "door," we say "door"
You say "four," we say "four"
You say "whore," we say "hoe"
You want more but we want more
What else is there left for me to do?
This is the dedication from me to you
The South, I know you're gonna see me through
So until I die I wanna be with you
You're everything I knew
You're everything I knew, oh yeah
Do what you want me to, I would do anything
Get on my knees for you, ooh, baby
What else is there to do? I don't know, I don't know
But I'll cry
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