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ceelo

Soul Food [*]
by Cee-Lo



My old boy from the point,
But I'm from Southwest and every
Now and then I get put to the test.
But I can't be stopped,
'Cause I gotta come true, ain't got no gun
But I got my crew.
Didn't come for no beef 'cause I don't eat steak.
I got a plate of soul food, chicken, rice, and gravy;
Not covered in too much.
Drinking a cup of punch, tropical.
Every last Thursday of the month.

Daddy put tha hot grits on my chest in tha morning.
When I was sick, Mary had tha hot soup boiling.
Didn't know why but it felt so good,
Like some waffles in tha morning,
Headed back to tha woods.
Now I'm full as tick.
Got some soul on blast in tha cassette.
Food for my brain;
I haven't stopped learning yet.
Hot wings from Mo-Joes
Got my forehead sweating.
Celery and blue cheese on my menu next.

Southern Fry won't allow my body to lie still.
Tied face goons surround me like cancer, drill
Me with second-hand obstacles,
But only to make matters worse.
Plus I'm getting pimped by this temp lady, Jackie,
From Optima staffing, figure laughing.
Shut up clown, don't talk to me
Like that, looking stupid of course.
Living day by day and you ain't hard.
Trick, hell you say?
It's such a blessing when my eyes
Get to see the sun rise.
To get further away from where I've been,
But I'll never forget everythang I went through.
I appreciate the shit because
If I had a went and took the easy way
I wouldn't be the strong nigga that I am today.
Everythang that I did,
Different thangs I was told,
Just ended up being food for my soul.

Come and get yo' soul food, well, well.
Good old-fashioned soul food, alright.
Everythang is for free,
As good as it can be.
Come and get some soul food.

Sunday morning, where you eating at?
I'm on 1365, Wichita Drive.
Ole' burd working the stove ride.
Churches dripping chicken in yesterday's grease,
Didn't go together with this quart of Mickey's.
Last night hanging over from a good time.
Yeah, beef is cheaper but
It's pumped with "red dye" between two pieces of bread.
Shawty look good with dem hairy legs.
Wish I could cut her up but, ma stomach come before sex.
A house full of hos know what's the ingredient;
Spaghetti plus her monthly flow.
They know they making it hard on the yard.
Fuck Chris Darden, fuck Marsha Clark.
Taking us, when we're in the spotlight, for a joke.
Changing by the day, I see it's getting bigga in my square.
Looking at Lennox from the outside
With a stare, no money to go inside.
Tameka and Tiffany, outside tripping
And skipping rope, to the beats from my jeep,
As I speak, wuz up, from the driver seat.

A heaping helping of fried chicken,
Macaroni and cheese, and collard greens.
Too big for my jeans.
Smoke steams from under the lid that's on the pot.
Ain't never had a lot but thankful for
The little that I got, why not be
Fast food got me feeling sick.
Them crackers think they sick,
By trying to make this bullshit affordable.
I thank the Lord that my voice was recordable.
Come an get your soul food well, well.
Hold up, see, it's what I write,
And Miss Lady acting like we in jail.
Says she ain't got no extra hush puppies to sell.
Bankhead seafood making me hit that door
With a mind full of attitude.
It was a line at tha beautiful
JJ'S Ribshack, was packed too.
Looking to be one of dem days
When Momma ain't cooking.
Everybody's out hunting with tha family,
Looking for a little soul food.

Come and get yo' soul food, well, well.
Good old-fashioned soul food, alright.
Everythang is for free,
As good as it can be.
Come and get some soul food.
---
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written by Wade, Rico Renard / Brown, Patrick L / Murray, Raymon Ameer / Bennett, Brandon K / Gipp, Cameron F / Burton, Thomas / Barnett, Robert / Knighton, Willie
Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group