No Good Nappy Roots

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(B Stille)
Yooooo!
I said Yooooo!
For all them industry haters that said we couldn't do it...
This for my country thug street yeagas!
You know we gon'

[Hook]
Smoke good, drink good, eat good, Fleetwood
Nickel bag of funk'll make a country yeaga sleep good
Yo' hood, my hood, tote heat, sho' should
Folk round here be up to no good

[Verse 1]
(Skinny Deville)
My yeaga lookin like one of them days
I got a Franklin in my pocket, with this lint like a slave
And 20 cent to my name, tryna make this crime pay
Money spent, Ben gone, left me with the Hamil-ton
Window tint, same ol' song
Lincoln on a sack, with the fifty-dat
Bump my song, Get drunk, get it crunk
Country-fried, pack a blunt
Erything tight, Volume 2 off in the trunk, bump
In a slump, head-shot got me pumped like a gauge
Turn the page, flip the script
Hit the script jump, shorty with the dump
In the hatchback, ass fat
Nickel bag of funk, caught a skunk in a rat trap
Sat back, hit it once, hit it twice, pass that
Mashed-out, Fleetwood, Cadillac, headed South
Woodgrain, Pure Grain, hold it in and let it out
Bouncin' like a bunny hunny, tell the shorty set it out
Get in where we fit in, we gon' try our best to sell it out