Yeah

I feel the breeze coming in

I smell the smoke on the pen

That country boy killing these motherfuckers

Pullin′ up in the box, I'm around the bend

Sticking this pocket like trap rappers

Here for the meal bitch, I brought a bowl

Carry the wei, ght like I′m hauling oats

Got 'em clearing that dope like that Conoco

Who's that motherfucker Billy?

We can rock out and go hook out in Harlem

Who would cosign this white boy

Jimmy I piss out a starter

Fed with a long handle spoon

Got an attitude, yeah, I′m a problem

Got a chip on the shoulder

′Cause I'm from ′Bama

Alabama boys ain't ′bout no caution

My destiny ain't second-guessing

Ain′t gonna filter expression

They hit me with stereotypes

I decline, I ain't gonna answer the question

I'm funky as fuck, that′s all it is

For the honkies in trucks and the kids

Just a product of southern environment

Mason jar full of shine I′m gonna twist the lid

Bought me some Cartier shades

Threw them bitches in the lake

Swim to the bottom to find 'em

Swim back to the top with an old grenade

Look what I found Cambo

Pull the pin, buddy, what do you say?

Fuck it, here we go

See, blowin′ up ain't never safe

Fucking dead man with the lead man

Caught a wig like I came with a Steadman′s

Slum bakery how I'm bread man

Turn my nick in the dirt like I′m red man

See the future with me in the Chevy van

Like a peyote trip, in the red sand

Drop another classic in the set, man

Go on pull the plastic on the bed, man

Got the drip, hot, swept like a felt hat

808's hitta's breaking these icecaps

Son of a bitch, yeah, I like that

Take a look at your soul, what a sight dad

I′m funky as fuck, that′s all it is

For the honkies in trucks and the kids

Just a product of southern environment

Mason jar full of shine I'm gonna twist the lid

To rock and roll had to cut it up

Like I ran up in a thorn bush

Stop, drop, and roll, you ain′t dope enough

With them silly ass rhymes and that boring hook

Bitch I'm red Atlanta, Circa Dungeon fell in 1998 swag, yeah

If you know then you know, if you don′t th

En consider yourself runnin' late rap, yeah

Black on them made that check

Playing tape with the playback, yeah

With them hippies like way back, yeah

In the kitchen, they make crack, yeah

Still mobbing deep and I′m not sure

I just sold out the show, got the spot booked

Blinders on like a Tennessee Walking Horse

Tunnel vision I'm focused, do not look

Like a book, I see them laying back

Billy ain't the one, he ain′t sayin′ that

Got a bigger budget, need to pay it back

Drop a fucking heater on a Maytag

I'm funky as fuck, that′s all it is

For the honkies in trucks and the kids

Just a product of southern environment

Mason jar full of shine I'm gonna twist the lid