[Chorus: Waka Flocka Flame] I'm from the South, Southern hospitality, soul food dinners, dinners, dinners, dinners, dinners, dinners I'm from the south, where the old folks they don't mind they business (NO!) Strip clubs is our culture we some heavy spenders C-Candy paint and gold teeth, c-candy paint and gold teeth C-Candy paint and gold teeth, c-candy paint and gold teeth C-Candy paint and gold teeth, c-candy paint and gold teeth C-Candy paint and gold teeth, c-candy paint and gold teeth
[Waka Flocka Flame] I'm in Riverdale on 85, at Ann' Laura's eatin some soul food (Squad!) Clayton County attitude (Squad!), let me know if you down to (Flocka!) party all night with my people (Ay mayne, ay mayne!) And if yo' ass go hungry man, them old folks they gon' feed you I bring +Drama+, like Sammy Sam, I'm Soul Plane fly Twist the burn, bumpin Do or Die (HOL' DAT!) call it clean, no suit and tie +Geto Boy+ like Willie D, Cartier, wood grains like I'm Pimp C Hall of Fame like Bun B I ain't from the South, that's Ludacris, that country shit Fish and grits, yard full of pits, w-wet paint, b-big rims You cain't help but ta notice it, put the beat in it, dark tints (Shawty!) I'm coolin it wit my bad bitch (FLEX!), she thick as shit not average (FLEX!) Country hell with dem manners, yellin Riverdale, where we at (RIVERDAAAAAALE~!!!)
[Hook]
[Bun B] Mayne I'm sittin low in my old school and my locs is on and I'm so cool And my top is dropped, so there's no roof and I'm shinin' hard as my gold tooth (Hol' up) I'm trill as hell, and I'm heavy set Pray to the Lord, but don't get it bent I'm from the hood, and I represent and I turn it up like the deficit I'm from Texas, bitch (bitch) Cadillac no Lexus, bitch (bitch) Where we ride on fo's, them suicide doors that part No plastics, bitch (bitch) So you best not test us, bitch (bitch) 'cause we will get reckless, bitch (bitch) Catch you on yo' block wit' that big black Glock Take more than yo' necklace, bitch (bitch) Tell me who gon' check us, bitch (uh), we outside Down for the hood nigga we gon' ride My gladiators, yeah they go live wit' them ARs' and them fo'-fives So watch yo' step, and know yo' place If you ain't trill, don't show yo' face 'cause I'll pull and pop, and I'll catch a case and I'll leave the scene wit' no trace~!
[Chorus]
[Ludacris] RAHH!! Ha-ha, LUDA! FRESH out the shop and the candy-coated Cadillac stacked on amazing wheels Seats lookin like I holla'd at the Reese's Peanut Butter company and made a deal (HA!) Trunk shakin like jelly, these honeys ready to check the spread cause I get that cheese, and I sandwich myself between the bread (Woo!) So keep yo' mind on yo' riches, and get ya hoes right cause in these streets you not safe unless ya code's right (yea) This other livin is like something you ain't never seen (Never!) Ask any hustler, his favorite color is money green Blacked-out tint (tint), white walls spinnin (spinnin) Lookin' for the ham-hock-neckbone-collard-green-cornbread-eatin women We some country-ass certified gangstas in the South When you speak about who's hottest, watch yo' mother-FUCKIN mouth, LUDA~!
