CunninLynguists - Since When? lyrics

We flavor the music, chop this screw that
Take you through church in a
Verse til you view fact
Holy ghost, from the lowly coast
Spit humility facin critics cold fronts
Blockin our humidity we own rap fo sho as
Cognac’ll twist yo dome back
Our tracks? See
They be nappy but you can’t comb that
Call it el natural sound of soul
You ain’t seen these darts or
How fast they’ve flown
From, ‘tween these parts and
The ones ‘nere known
My slang bang with a twang
And hang on earlobes you hear Natti
Hot as Caddies with no steering column on ‘em
With enough lines to dry all
The clothes that you own
(Since when did the south) get
Pinned in a drought?
(Not never been clever since
Big pens been about
Reachin whateva levels that’ll
Suspend any doubt that we as bad as yo kids
When this mics to our mouth)

I hear 'em talkin 'bout
Southern folks can't rhyme
Some of y'all must be out
Your God damned mind
Yeah, it's about that time, we got that shine
Cause niggas been about them lines
Since when? E'ry since a
"Pocket Full of Stones"
Ridin dirty in a Chevy sittin heavy on chrome
Ever since Goodie Mo' had Food for Soul
And them dirty red dawgs done hit the do'

The Mason-Dixon Line
Been across ya mind like night-sticks
Rain down on the game and fuck
It up like white kicks
I might switch, south paw, knuckle to jaw
If another broke nigga spit
About spendin it all
I spit the gems that you
Splurge to put around neck
So save that to pay back
All your loans and debts
A Maybach and a plaque
Is that all you get? Shhhit
We struggle to juggle talent with
A helluva sales pitch
Standin on southern dirt that
Helped America get rich
Ye’ ain’t gotta struggle with a
Shovel to dig this cold as no power
After hours in the winter months
Hot though crock-pot flow
So here dinner comes walk them shell toes
Down underground railroads
Niggas fresh outta jail clothes
Spittin like hell’s close
And these words ain't slurred
Maybe how you listen’s blurred
You ain’t feelin sickness served
Muhfucka kiss a curb

I hear 'em talkin 'bout
Southern folks can't rhyme
Some of y'all must be out
Your God damned mind
Yeah, it's about that time, we got that shine
Cause niggas been about them lines
Since when? E'ry since a
"Pocket Full of Stones"
Ridin dirty in a Chevy sittin heavy on chrome
Ever since Goodie Mo' had Food for Soul
And them dirty red dawgs done hit the do'