[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
Facing critics cold fronts, blocking our humidity
(Natti)
We own rap
(Deacon)
Fo sho as cognac'll twist you 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 steering column on them
(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 whatever levels that'll suspend any doubt
That we as bad as you kids when this mics to our mouth
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
Facing critics cold fronts, blocking our humidity
(Natti)
We own rap
(Deacon)
Fo sho as cognac'll twist you 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 steering column on them
(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 whatever levels that'll suspend any doubt
That we as bad as you kids when this mics to our mouth
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