Its a Midwest thang yall
And aint got a clue (Aint got a clue)
Why my Cutlass blue
And I got them thangs on that motherfucker too
Its a Midwest Swang yall
Aint gotta trip (Aint gotta trip)
While we swing and dip (Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay)
Cuz we do big thangs
On the motherfuckin hip
What you think, we live on a farm? Nigga, be for real
We got Benzs, Rovers and Jags, Hummers and Devilles
Got a green S Class, aint broke the do seal
Shit aint been the same since I signed Fo Reel
This shit got ill, when I hit 4 mil
Five and countin, dirty six at will
Did seven on the slide, 8 worldwide
Ill be on my third Bentley by the time Im at 9
I hearem cryin, "You gon sell out"
Ya damn right, I done sold out before
And re-caught the same night
Straight hopped the next flight
Too *Icey* for sunlight
Dunkin without Sprite, yea you heard me dirty
Im from the Show-Me State
Show me seven Ill show you eight
Karats in one bling, heavily starched jeans
Representin St. Louis everytime I breathe
In the city I touch down, and I bob and weave, ay
I sport my beeper on my boots
Thats why I be a buzz when I kick
Maybe its on my lips, its chaos when I spit
Quarter man, quarter schoolboy, half Lunatic
Quarter rubber, quarter dick, other half in yo shit
Keep a quarter of some sheeeiit
Im the Pookey of the backyard
All colors and all types like a junkyard
High young boy with high young ways
Cuz I connect three blunts and be high for three days
You can tell by the way I walk I aint from round hurr (here)
Probably couldnt tell cuz I aint walkin nowhurr (nowhere)
I got a old-school Cutlass, with a hole in the urr (air)
TVs urrwhurr (everywhere) wood grain to sturr (stare)
I dont curr (care), hell naw I aint cuttin my hurr (hair)
10 and a half in the Airforce Ones, give me two purr (pair) ugh
Im from the Lou and what I do is a Lou thang
One rapper, two rings and three chains
Nothing but some ole country boys that ride V12 horses
Saddle up and put spurs on my Airforces
Back porches made for hide and go seek
We got space out here, we can ride and cheif
Aint gotta worry bout nobody approachin us
By the time they catchin up, we smokin up
And my eyes be red, my lips a lil dark
St. Louis sportin the Rams, Cards and lil Arch
My dirtys love to spark, and love to sparkle
Love homies *Vokal* coats with matchin cargos
We racin down Skinker, see how fast a car go
Granny be like "Ay, ya ya" like Ricky Ricardo
I know you wanna know why we do what we do
You cats aint got a clue why the Cutlass blue
Brand new 22s on new UPs
With one, two, three, four, five TVs
Im sittin on the front porch, writin a hood rhyme
Waitin on my connect to deliver that good line
Wish I would find, one seed in my weed
Sticks and shit, if I do somebody bleed
Pull right here, eight pounds of Chinamen
Two stay hittin some blunts and Heineken
Hidin in the back with the po po
Stickin my dodo, man they some ho hooos
They put the gun to my earr
You know the law dont fear
Nann nigga, nann hoe, lets keep that bullshit clearr
They had me face down in the skreet (street)
Errbody (everybody) watchin, thinkin Ima pull the heat
And leave the D-tects with a leak in the skreet (street)
And that - pussy ass nigga that set me up my peeps
Gon give it to this nigga like NYPD
Beat the K, fuck coke, now Im back on my granny poche (porch) hustlin
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