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Mississippi Mud
Jacob Lundstrom
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Aye, from the Sip.
Where the rivers run dirty and the dreams get murky.
Ruger Mac in the cut.
Magnolia blood in my veins.
We ain't forget where we from.
Yo Jacob, turn it up!
This one for Trill.
Yeah!
I'm the Mac from the Magnolia, Trap House Symphony,
Fresh out the pen, pockets empty, but the vision clear to me
Mississippi Mud on my boots, but I'm shining like the gold
Haters pray I fall, but this breadwinner soul won't break or bow
Ruger on my hip, but the real strap is my grind
From Jackson blocks to Meridian nights, I survived the line
Really, really hurting, but I'm masking it with the flow
Magnolia Mac, watch me turn the pain to dough.
Yeah!
Born in the Delta where the cotton fields whisper secrets to the wind
Pops locked up for a lick, left momma with the rent and the sins
I was ten slinging packs at the corner store, dodging Blues in the Camry
Meridian lights flickering, dreams bigger than the family tragedy
Lost my dog to the gauge on a Tuesday, blood on the gravel like rain
Swear I'm gripping the script, turning the loss to a gain
No more chains
Court dates stacked like the bricks in the wall, judge hammer fall like thunder
But I rose from the county, grind in my pocket, faith keep me under.
Hey!
Hustle from the trap to the stage, same scars, tell the tale
Haters from the same zip code, now they begging for the bail
Big body Chevy, tires gripping the blacktop like my grip on a dream
Mississippi made me, forge in the heat, now the world's feeling my steam
I don't flex for the 'Gram, that's for the frauds and the fakes
Real ones know the struggle, from the porch to the plates
Kids looking up, saying, "Pops, you the king of the Sip."
I say, "Hold tight, little ones, Generational flip."
I'm the Mac from the Magnolia, Trap House Symphony,
Fresh out the pen, pockets empty, but the vision clear to me
Mississippi Mud on my boots, but I'm shining like the gold
Haters pray I fall, but this breadwinner soul won't break or bow
Ruger on my hip, but the real strap is my grind
From Jackson blocks to Meridian nights, I survived the line
Really, really hurting, but I'm masking it with the flow
Magnolia Mac, watch me turn the pain to dough.
Baby momma calling, tears in her voice, say the streets stole my time
But I chase this bag for the crib, for the kids, leaving the grind behind
Forgave the snakes that bit when I was down, trust fractured like glass
Now I move solo, dolo, review ghosts from the past
Gulf Coast breeze, but the weight heavy like the humid air
Pour one for the fallen soldiers, whispers in the midnight prayer
Turn my L's to lessons, pressure made the diamond in my chest
On small town whips, we sold out shows, put the Sip on the map, no less
Devil at the fork trying to pull me back to the block
But the angel on my shoulder got the map to the top, I see the vision
Penthouse views over the Pearl River flow
Breadwinner blueprint, Generational glow,
Sometimes the mirror lie, show a kid still fighting a War
But I lace up the boots, kick the door, demanding more.
Why the Sip so cold? (So cold)
Why the wins come slow? (Come slow)
Look into the sky, ask the Most High, let the seeds grow (Let 'em grow)
Hear my kinfolk holler, "Mac, you made it, don't look back."
Dust the dirt off, keep the motion intact.
Moving!
I'm the Mac from the Magnolia, Trap House Symphony
Fresh out the pen, pockets empty, but the vision clear to me
Mississippi Mud on my boots, but I'm shining like the gold
Haters pray I fall, but this breadwinner soul won't break or bow
Ruger on my hip, but the real strap is my grind
From Jackson blocks to Meridian nights, I survived the line
Really, really hurting, but I'm masking it with the flow
Magnolia Mac, watch me turn the pain to dough.
Turn to the dough!
It get greater later.
Magnolia flow.
Peace.