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Cunninlynguists – The South lyrics

Send* corrections to the typist [Sos]

yeah welcome, to the South everybody Creepin

up outta the dirty south unexpectedly hittin ya head Like
a stick of lead whippin you flippin, you outta bed Cause
on my block the sidewalk can sizzle an egg And
we as hip hop as a cripple with dreads missin a leg Visitors
get addicted and don't wanna leave Blowin
on trees from Kentucky to the Florida keys Humidity
floats in the breeze And
this is the only place where shorties can go to the beach and grow double D's Like
good jesus Let. me rub some lotion on your cleavage Cause
where we live summertime lasts about four seasons Parties
are real loud Car. systems got clear sounds Birds
fly here in winter Chickens. are here year round And
they a is** meaner the, grass is greener and tap is cleaner Follow
me and any questions just ask the leaders And
the blunted genius of Cunninlynguists spittin it clear Sippin
beer on a postcard like "I, wish you were here ".[Deacon

the Villian] So
come on down show, and tell with some southern belles Tricks
with treats you don't keep in a pumpkin pail Hospitality
We? treat our company well From
Kentucky bails of hay way down to Florida shells Gals
with chunky tails lookin', like something swell ni
z***and negrelles smoked out on country trails You
try and visit actin' ignant and startin' hell Your
trip'll last about as long as the xfl Here
the, weather's hot Streets
We? keep em blocked Mardi
gras in every spot like we live in a land without some clocks From
them Virginia docks to, Mississippi crops Swing
through Atlanta where them switches be liftin' shocks So
please leave all trash in the Herbie-Curbie Welcome
to the dirty dirty home, of them purdy-girlies Birdies
ready for flight dawgs, ready to bite The
southern south-paw but, everything is all-right [Chorus


& Deacon the Villian] But
in the dirty south everything ain't all peaceful We
still got racist people with inflated egos Got
foul cops shootin at n s****like we some free throws Rough
nights bug, bites from Jumangi mosquitoes Fiends
that hug pipes drug, life pills, and needles Streets
with much hype and some like to kill people And
if you don't want cops cuffin you up after your freak show Remember
jail baits are developed so check ids yo, But
still the home of black eyed peas collard, greens that, soul food The
home of southernplayalistic pimps lettin they hoes loose The
home of that bluegrass red, clay zephyrhills, Cadillac
grills battle, rap skills The
home of Miami Bass 808's, and, spring breaks Girls
with tank asses from va to the Lando Lakes The
home of gold fronts home, grown skunk the, home of sippin shine The
home of everything under the mason dixie line [Chorus


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