Lyrics:
king of the south (uh huh)
Well I'm the the motherfucking prince of the city
(you already know)(Santana)
And when the king and the prince get together
off
Cause yo ass got caught thinking you was a boss
Better watch where you step or your going to be next
Only style that's best came from the south west
Break me off proper, gun in that doctor
Gats at yo head, call me Mr. Non-stopper
Tech 9 shooter, lady, ruder
Down South hustla, West Coast ruler
3rd
and the book game
But I'm still rapping
Got my mass and my cook game
It's midnight but we 730
We legit, but forever dirty!
So even if I'm thin, G that old
Yeah, Blacc Jon Gotti
My CostaNosta till I die!
Young Kros on the beat!
Break down dimes in the trap house
Bitches face down with they ass out
Got
said (alright)
And I live by the coast of Nostra Cit' (yeah)
Fuck around I'll knock your shoulder from your head (nigga)
Get it right I'm a soldier
pain
I can get you John Doe by a no name
Catch him at the Chinese store
Pulled two sticks on him, we eatin' Lo Mein
Nah nigga, Smack can't hear
(hair)
(2x)
Yo I want to see your war face
Soldier where's your war face?
Camouflaged inmates collapse war gates
[9th Prince]
Yo, yo yo yo
Check the Killarmy
self you ain't scared when I run in
your chick I ain't bout no games woady its your life or yo bitch
Apologize when I pass by bootin my grill
3rd
doin', baby
Keepin' it gangsta
Uh, yeah, uh, yeah, uh, yo
How many men could you kill? Let me count all the bullets I got
How many bricks could move?
doin', baby
Keepin' it gangsta
Uh, yeah, uh, yeah, uh, yo
How many men could you kill? Let me count all the bullets I got
How many bricks could move?
shit popper
Spark my trees and wake the whole house
Like it's a pot of Folgers
Movin' like and army platoon, lots of soldiers
M-16's aimed above yo
it out like wildfires
I wasn't raised by no hoe nigga we do or dyer's
I show no love cuz' they lied and I'm so tired (So tired)
I don't need fans just
Whether it be casualties from your side of the line or mine
I'm in the line of duty amputations by the tooley
Dirty South here to ruley, consequences moody
and greed
Luv to the Gov's, B.M.'s, Field marshals, elites and the chief
Soldiers we better take heed and realize
Signs of the times, stand by yo 9,
Watch out
Brook-lawn collabo'
Yo, yo, yo (ya heard me?)
(BP step to 'em)
This is for my twenty-five to life bidders, pork fried rice eaters
New York, New York, ice
to feel like a full moon in the night
Look up at the starlight when you realize
It's just me, myself, and I
I'm a, business, b***h
Been on my Irv Gotti
I
is kind of insane
I Scarecrow with mystical styles
Niggas are getting buck wild
Look at my dirty fouls
Bodies are stacked up by pounds
You want to fuck
by you bitches like pelicans
Put a crack in yo exo-skeletan
Shake this bitch like a bowl of gelatin
we soldiers no limit soldiers ugh there
that caine
But then a boss slowed down
My patna shipping inventory across town
A soldier from that dirty 3rd
Come rumble with me
Spitting artillery want
know, about the dirty South
Say them hot boys out, say them hot girls out
No doubt, boys like a dollar sign
Gotta drop it like it's hot, when Wreckshop in
young
The shells come and Hell come, they kickin' dust from (dust from)
The South's dirty dirty, up North is filthy
The East is a jungle, the West is
dirties be
Niggas, gettin them evil papes
And it don't matter
Whether you brother or sister take
You out fo' the batter
AIGHT? So check the scene
We in
showin' up if the club party
Rap music
I suppose to do it
God bless
The projets
You already know
The ghetto
West coast
East coast
Dirty south
Yo
cll of this
.jpg/300px-Dirty_South_(DJ).jpg "Dirty South")
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