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[Chorus:]They know just who we areRoll in fo' deep carsPolo down, country boundTight like Mason jarsMy grandma used to sayBoy you got, boy you got, boy you got gumptionBoy you got, boy you got, boy you got gumptionBoy you got, boy you got, boy you got gumptionBoy you got, boy you got, boy you got gumption[Big K.R.I.T.:]First off, I'm the country of the countriestMississippi bitch, what you know about this country shit?Hold on, prolong, I'm knowing what you thankingNaw, it ain't the chitterlings that got this shit herestankingJumping, bumping through the speakers, sub boomingShawty, I've been stroking is what I've been doingEverybody got something to say about how we get downWhen we get round, cause it's thirty-eights on the Crown VicSo I use a ladder to get down withAy, thick and for the picking's what I'm fine withHer face ahh! Ass astoundingShe micro-braided, I pull it and pound itThat malt liquor keep a nigga groundedOn the porch with my kinfolk loungingSongtexteUp underneath the starsThey talk about my state, but they know just who we are[Chorus][Big K.R.I.T.:]Psychedelic, excelling on Daytons and Vogues[?] majestic, I'm killing these hoesSprinkle game of the greenest, the meanest of flowsPlanting seeds in your mentals and leave it to growEager to know, how to get money and bring it to daddyEvenly so, buy me some gators and pull up the CaddyOpen my do', jump from my car, round and clean up my palaceThrow on my robe, run my bath water and fill up my chaliceSit on my balance beam until her belly creamIf that pussy needs ramming, I'm batteringPlayer way, tailor made, always in a gator state'92 Bulls on a fool, that's how players playFor the win like M.J. straight awayShook 'em off, no time left, fuck it, fade awayBuzzer, it's all over withChampagne with lobster and shrimp, pimp[Chorus][Big K.R.I.T.:]Ay, ay player play on, I roller-skate onI was taught to give 'em something just to hate onLike a Ford engine light, I just stay onOr, to find a yellow belly I can take homeOr, lay on cause it ain't nothing but a skill toYou either get her done barbecue or meal dudeLet the super-fly inside you steer youBecause being lame's a disease, it can kill youSo let me put you on these hoesChevy that be heavy and the wall that be VoguePeanut butter guts with the grape jelly glowChromed-out bumper with the Cobain do'sThat's suicide shit if ain't know thatNeed a lil' pimping? Baby girl, let me pour thatSow that up with some dough on itI was born with the gift of gab, so motherfucker throw a bowon it[Chorus] Aus Songtexte Mania