Lil Flip, Z-Ro - Kings of the South lyrics
[Lil Flip, Z-Ro - Kings of the South lyrics]
Oh (oh) , oh (oh) this what the streets been asking fa
The real Kings, Lil' Flip and Z-Ro ha ha ha
Clover G'z and Rap-A-Lot, different labels
But we both in the Screwed Up Click, let's go
Look me and my niggas
We fifty deep with them triggas
I'm a school boy yeah right
I run with them killas
Afilliated with pimps, I know too many cats
I've been rapping eight years
I got too many placks
Now when I run in your crib
And take your son out the crib
And put the gun to his bib
Now it's one in his ribs
I stay in and out of the jail house
I can afford to bail out
You can call me the post man
All I do is follow my mail route
I got a stank ass attitude
Excuse me nigga you have to move
See these big old niggas I'm walking with
There's some behind you too
Don't want us to trip
You don't wanna see this extended clip
Be on the lookout for Z-Ro and Lil' Flip
This is history in the making ya bitch
Now I'm back with my crew
Like we ain't got nothing to do
So if you beefing with them
Then I'm beefing with you
I'm the King of the South
You see the ring and the house
I'm a major playa like
Mean Green in the South
So if I kick in your do'
And put my dick in your hoe
Give me the brick in the flo'
Now it's time to go
When I roll I roll solo
I got seven sets of fo' do's
I got rid of all my old bitches
To make way for some mo' hoes
We are the real Kings
God damn it my grill clean
I smoke and I still lean
Hit up C-Note or Will-Lean (why dat)
Cause, I kick's it with my people
Fuck friends they all turn evil
They might try, to do me something lethal
All y'all niggas claiming to be cold
Can deal with my heater
Oh, no I flip digit's like Puffy
I slay niggas like Buffy
You a fag, I refuse to let a label fuck me
Cause, I'm calling the shots
My favorite rapper is Pac
Nigga I was stealing cars
When you was wiping your snot
So when I blow up your office
And rob one of your bosses
I can't take no losses
You know how crunk the South is
Hell yeah we throw bows for really
We blow dro and Philly's
I get three dollas with this
You only getting a penny this skinny nigga
Will never be in my position
How you gon fight, when you got malnutrition
So when I stomp your ass
And when I front your ass
And when I punch your ass
You ain't gon wanna talk no mo' let's go
I'm a gangsta kin folk
I stack and don't spend do'
I got five percent tint
On each and every one of my windows
Everytime the wind blows
Another Benjamin goes
Where the rest of the Benjamins go
Hoe I'm paid for your info
I'm the rap LeBron, better yet I'm T-Mac
I was flipping work
When you was playing pitty pat
I take a brick from here
Then I move it on the East
I got New York niggas, paying 23
So when I hit your gut
I'm in my pick-up truck
I come to pick up bucks
After that I'm picking up
Sluts now let's ride
The real Kings, Lil' Flip and Z-Ro ha ha ha
Clover G'z and Rap-A-Lot, different labels
But we both in the Screwed Up Click, let's go
Look me and my niggas
We fifty deep with them triggas
I'm a school boy yeah right
I run with them killas
Afilliated with pimps, I know too many cats
I've been rapping eight years
I got too many placks
Now when I run in your crib
And take your son out the crib
And put the gun to his bib
Now it's one in his ribs
I stay in and out of the jail house
I can afford to bail out
You can call me the post man
All I do is follow my mail route
I got a stank ass attitude
Excuse me nigga you have to move
See these big old niggas I'm walking with
There's some behind you too
Don't want us to trip
You don't wanna see this extended clip
Be on the lookout for Z-Ro and Lil' Flip
This is history in the making ya bitch
Now I'm back with my crew
Like we ain't got nothing to do
So if you beefing with them
Then I'm beefing with you
I'm the King of the South
You see the ring and the house
I'm a major playa like
Mean Green in the South
So if I kick in your do'
And put my dick in your hoe
Give me the brick in the flo'
Now it's time to go
When I roll I roll solo
I got seven sets of fo' do's
I got rid of all my old bitches
To make way for some mo' hoes
We are the real Kings
God damn it my grill clean
I smoke and I still lean
Hit up C-Note or Will-Lean (why dat)
Cause, I kick's it with my people
Fuck friends they all turn evil
They might try, to do me something lethal
All y'all niggas claiming to be cold
Can deal with my heater
Oh, no I flip digit's like Puffy
I slay niggas like Buffy
You a fag, I refuse to let a label fuck me
Cause, I'm calling the shots
My favorite rapper is Pac
Nigga I was stealing cars
When you was wiping your snot
So when I blow up your office
And rob one of your bosses
I can't take no losses
You know how crunk the South is
Hell yeah we throw bows for really
We blow dro and Philly's
I get three dollas with this
You only getting a penny this skinny nigga
Will never be in my position
How you gon fight, when you got malnutrition
So when I stomp your ass
And when I front your ass
And when I punch your ass
You ain't gon wanna talk no mo' let's go
I'm a gangsta kin folk
I stack and don't spend do'
I got five percent tint
On each and every one of my windows
Everytime the wind blows
Another Benjamin goes
Where the rest of the Benjamins go
Hoe I'm paid for your info
I'm the rap LeBron, better yet I'm T-Mac
I was flipping work
When you was playing pitty pat
I take a brick from here
Then I move it on the East
I got New York niggas, paying 23
So when I hit your gut
I'm in my pick-up truck
I come to pick up bucks
After that I'm picking up
Sluts now let's ride