Uh-huh, now what we gonna do
Take it from the Eastside to the country
Ya feel me? Ya feel me?
Ya feel me? Tchka-tchka-tchka
Check the chorus...
[Chorus 2x: Timbaland]
Jada talk so good, but they brain is not ready
They don't know know
Bubba talk so good, but they brain is not ready
They don't know know know
Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh, yeah
Yo, uh, yeah, yo...
Aiyyo, this I'll make ya head hurt
When the hawk take the day off
I make the lead work, I'll put you in the red dirt
Ice make 'em look like stars, they comin' through
On the bikes, but they look like cars, it's somethin' new
and Jada talk soo good, but 'cha brain is
Nowhere next to ready for this stainless
It's no helpin' you when them thangs melt in you
and way down in Athens, Jada's a bell ringer
I'ma bring the hood to the farm
Bless 'em with some purple hay
Remove the wood from the barn
Introduce them to the yak and cranberry
and make sure Bubba Spark good, then I'm gone
Even if we run the war, I'ma still run the raw
You can come and see me, I got 'em for twenty-four
Double are and Beat Club, who hard as us?
R3: In The "are" We Trust, see'mon
How did him and Bubba rise from this dirt and this cow feces?
To show you folks the hope for this changin' shall be me
Notice how he see, the picture for it's painting
and poured you up of this mixture before it was tainted
See I was rydin' ruff only when me and D became aquatinted
and I pledge to maintain it, be damned if I'ma change it
This shit is anus, ain't it? Fuck 'em, Kiss bring it home
I ryde or die with Beat Club, won't bend for the sake of this song
The streets is still mine, I stay with the still nine
and it's still long and if I'm stronger than corn like I pinkeyed
Niggaz pretend to be weeded, that's what the industry needed
Kiss flippin' his flow, enemies heated
But we gon' let the gats pop
From the old rifles on the dirt road to the handguns on the blacktop
Don't get the plot wrong, this ain't a black or white politic thing
Cocksucker, it's a hot song
What's Your Interpretation?
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