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Country Boyz (Main Explicit Album Version) - Nappy Roots
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Country Boyz (Main Explicit Album Version) Nappy Roots

Country Boyz (Main Explicit Album Version) - Nappy Roots
(Hook: All)
We just some country boys - country walk, country talk
Don't bring it round here 'less ya know fa sho' it's jumpin off
We just some country boys - country walk, country talk
Don't bring it round here 'less ya know fa sho' it's jumpin off

(B. Stille)
Uhhh.. this nigga no games (games)
With my Hanes tee shirt, with a pic and roll chain (chain...)
Doo-rag, heavy blue 'Lac - 65 South, don't drive it too fast (too fast)
My niggas don't roll no billies
Get a big box of them brown Dutches (brown Dutches)
We don't want no brand new Cartel
Brandon lemme get them keys to the Cutlass (Cutlass)
Represent for the M-I-L, the A-T-L, the Macktown (Macktown)
Stay smokin that smackdown, keep myself a little half pound (half pound)
You know B. Stille in the cut, on the back po'ch Jig drillin it up
Black folks just livin it up, court next week not givin a fuck!
What's up? Grown standin - only rap to them grown women (grown women)
Stay high, we'll play shy, least till I can get home wittem
Shorty whattchu thinkin? Whattchu drinkin? - thinkin it is what it ain't
I cain't be trickin, so don't be trippin, thinkin I can't when I cain't
Come on..

(Hook: All)
(Skinny DeVille)
Nigga hooked it up, like the waitress from the IHOP
Nothin but the grits, steak, and egg with that
Waitin for the five dollar pancake, front-back side to side
Them polly country boy, Cadillac, cat sick in the multi-color
All clean (twenty inches) at the seam (plenty chickens)
Get the green (spit the swishers) at the Beam (shit done seem)
Craziest muh'fucker, what y'all niggas do for cream
Never knock the hustle scheme, only what the cheddar bring
Hate, fake-niggas, hoes, envy, greed, jealousy
Cain't hate, what a nigga make, type of enemies
Smilin in my face but they really ain't no friend to me
Cain't wait, send em eight straight nine milli-mee
Aww hell naw, y'all niggas ain't feelin me!
Colt 45 e'rytime like Billy D
Sixty-five (?) leave through Tennessee
Quarter pound with the chron' fuckin wit my memory
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