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Текст песни NAPPY ROOTS - Awnaw

NAPPY ROOTS - Awnaw слова песни



Текст песни NAPPY ROOTS - Awnaw




Yeah, haha Nappy RootsAwwnaw![Hook]Awnaw! Hell naw! ManY'all done up and done itAwnaw! Hell naw! Boy( )Y'all done up and done itAwnaw! Hell naw! ManY'all done up and done itAh, y'all done up and done itMan y'all done up and done it[Fish Scales]My first song was like forty-eight bars with no hookYou hear me flippin thru my pages out my favorite notebookThe microphone was in the closet (What?) No headphones, we lost itNiggas scared to get some water, roaches hangin over the faucetsNo AC, Tez'll break a sweat just tryin to make beatsE-Dubz was being a hustler, (Heeeyy man!)all play flirtin all his customers, and flat brokeNappy smokin blacks out on the back po'chI'm thinkin I got everything a country boy could ask for[Big V]Now what we do to get here? (Say dat boy!!)Lay it down and bring it to ya raw (Say dat boy!!)Hey now we hurt some, suffered for more, takes what we work forHated for for the cussin, but the hatred it made us cuss moreHeld on, but it was hard - stepped up, took chargeRan thru what we scared up, but what was we afraid for?Look what we made of, heart that what made usBeing here is alright, but MUST believe we won't fall!Them country boys on the rise!With them big fat wheels on the side!Peep them vertical grills on the ride!And aw-awww-awww-awwwww!{Repeat Hook over this part}Them country boysWith them big fat wheelsPeep the vertical grillsAnd awwwwwwww![Saan/Skinny DeVille]My yegga, we hogwild, bet that from that roota to that toota-fileHell naw, them country boys ain't headed south for six milesKentucky mud, them kinfolk, twankies with them hundred-spokesSkullied on that front po'ch, plus you know they got 'droSeventy-nine coupe DeVille vertical Caddy grillInterstate 65 headin down to CashvilleGlass filled, to the tippy-top, back-seat BenzSpent my last cent on the rent, left with pocket lintsA damn shame, gotta grind anythang and everythangJimmy Crack Corn, cross the county line with Mary JaneA long time, a gravel road, to cash and fame and sold my soulTo Hell and back, and back and forth, with same jeans and nappy 'fro[R Prophit]I might, hop off the Harley, spoke mine like Bob MarleyNot parties with charties, wallin like they swallowin BacardiThem butter-skin, Prophit gotta like themUnderstand you 'bout to lose ya life fuckin with THEEEMM!Them country boys on the rise!With them big fat wheels on the side!Peep the vertical grills on the ride!




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