Yeah, uh, East Point, smokes some dank
College Park in the house
Decatur
Uh, Old National got the skanks
Everybody, uh, know what I'm sayin'
Check it

Well it's the M-I, crooked letter, ain't no one better
And when I'm on the microphone you best to wear your sweater
'Cause I'm cooler than a polar bear's toenails
Oh hell, there he go again talkin' that shit
Bend, corner's like I was a curve, I struck a nerve
And now you 'bout to see this Southern player serve
I heard it's not where you're from but where you pay rent
Then I heard it's not what you make but how much you spent
You got me bent like elbows, amongst other things, but I'm not worried
'Cause when we step up in the party, like a mouse-you-scurry
So go get your fuckin' shine box, and your sack of nickels
It tickles to see you try to be like Mr. Pickles
Daddy fat sacks, B-I-G B-O-I
It's that same motherfucker that took them knuckles to your eye
And I try, to warn you not to test but you don't listen
Givin' the shout out to my Uncle Donnel locked up in prison (yeah)

Now throw your hands in the air
And wave 'em like you just don't care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, "Oh-yeah-yer"

Now throw your hands in the air
And wave 'em like you just don't care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, "Oh-yeah-yer"

Now, my oral illustration be like clitoral stimulation
To the female gender, ain't nothin better
Let me know when it's wet enough to enter
If not I'll wait, because the future of the world depends on
If or if not the child we raise gon' have that nigga syndrome
Or will it know to beat the odds regardless of the skin tone
I really feel that if we tune it, it just might get picked on
Or will it give a fuck about what others say and get gone
The alienate-us 'cause we different keep your hands to the sky
Like Sounds of Blackness when I practice what I preach, it don't lie
I'll be the baker and the maker of the piece of my pie
Now breaker, breaker 10-4 can I get some reply?
Now everybody say

Now throw your hands in the air
And wave 'em like you just don't care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, "Oh-yeah-yer"

Now throw your hands in the air
And wave 'em like you just don't care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, "Oh-yeah-yer"

Everyday I sit while my nigga be in school
Thinkin' about the second album at the Dungeon shootin' pool
Like E-S to the P-N, 'cause we adjust to the beat in the zone (zone)
Honey, I'm home but I'm not married
Carried a lot of problems around bein' frustrated
And now I'm sittin' at the end of the month, I just made it
Like you made the B team
And like the daddy's wife you makin' the coffee
You heard the ATLiens
So back the hell up off me (shh, shh)

Softly as if I played piano in the dark
Found a way to channel my anger not to embark
The world's a stage and everybody gots to play their part
God works in mysterious ways so when he starts
The job of speakin' through us we be so sincere with this here
No drugs or alcohol so I can get the signal clear as day
Put my Glock away I got a stronger weapon
That never runs out of ammunition so I'm ready for war, okay

Now throw your hands in the air
And wave 'em like you just don't care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, "Oh-yeah-yer"

Now throw your hands in the air
And wave 'em like you just don't care
And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp shit
Everybody let me hear you say, "Oh-yeah-yer"

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): Andre Benjamin, Antwan Patton