[Chorus 4x - Nappy Roots] (Yes) Oh yes it's them Lac Dogs, Caddy Hogs and D.T.S.'s (Oh yes) It's them Lac Dogs, Caddy Hogs and D.T.S.'s
[Verse 1 - Skinny Deville] Skinny talkin bout that wood with that custom leather, bangin down I-65 Slaw and slum but dubs are better, who you think gon' keep it live? It's Nappy bitch, what have to come Pay attention, learn your lesson, yup We them country folk with Caddy Hogs and D.T.S.’s, Lac Dogs What you think that Nappy gon' be broke forever? Shit naw Hit the bank and cashin in on old investments What, you ain't know about them country fried sessions? Does that Likwit hit in '97 +Answer+ all yo' +Questions+? Kentucky's on the map now, who you think done gave directions? From the top and back down, we rep the country to perfection Don't it look so slum with 55 from New York down to Texas? Hella poor straight from the South and haters must respect this
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[Verse 2 - Ron Clutch] (Let me tell you about it) When I first got my baby she could barely start A-hand-me-down from a real O.G., all day she stayed in park Almost never did she drive Born in 1979 And she weighed about a ton Big ol' body built to run First thing I done, hauled her over, had her hummin G notes Underneath her hood, hundreds of horses powered her ego Her government name was Coup Deville but I called her Miss Piggy Top her with some (?) and fit her for some twenties (twenties) Playas hate that I be trickin like she's all that I'm love with So we took her to the edge and shoved it and still "Ball out on a Budget" Dug in her guts, laced her up with leather and wood Together it go good, us country boys forever stay hood
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[Verse 3 - B. Stille] You shove that shit that go bump bump bump bump And ya, shake the lock off her muh'fucker trunk When ya, hit the block make her muh'fucker jump Roll your window down, stop, look like somethin like a pimp Roll that window back up, and show 'em they reflection and their ultrafade Then chop on that sucka like Wesley's +Blade+ Escalade D.T.S., switch it up, keep them haters on they toes Red Rolls, Fleetwood hoes Can't believe it, when they see them twenty fo's, believe it My ham and cheese the freshest Now what I'm talkin bout? I give you three guesses
[Chorus]
[Verse 4 - Big V] You feel the wind, don't ya? You hear the tires squallin Kentucky, Colorado, Boston down to New Orleans Big bodies get it done, Dodge Ram preferably Cause they do run run, they do run run Black magic, lookin better then Wesson fryin a pan of fish Gangsta leanin like they do in Los Angeles (that's gangsta) Adjective, describin what I'm rollin in Them country fellas ain't gon' stop it, we on the road again
[R. Prophet] God damn, yes I am, the thriller with the skrilla Got plans, Pac fan +Strictly 4 my N.I.G.G.A.Z.+ Stop starin, we not playin Armor color kryptonite Rims nice but thank God our dreams came to life Fast roller, cash swoll up The mind mold up The crowd hold us Soldiers quick to throw they rags when I roll up Dimes is quarters Sell liquor, my rhymes is colder Prophet never look this fine since I grinded Cola Roll up
