Country Sh*t (Remix) [feat. Ludacris & Bun B]

Yeah, I've been waiting to tell them a'bout this country shit I'ma learn ya! You ready? Luda! Let me tell you a'bout these old-school Chevys, Cadillacs, SS Impalas If you smoking then we got more sacks than Troy Polamalu Your partners want some quarters, my partners want some keys In Atlanta, we get that paper, can you haters say "cheese"? 10,000 watt amps, six 15-inch kickers My truck bumpin' like injecting ass-shots, like a stripper No insurance on these whips, tags all outdated I might not be shit to you, but my momma thinks I made it We gon' ball 'til we fall, Lord this Conjure get us wasted And I never drink that white, all my women think I'm racist On that brown with the twist, tell these hoes to reminisce That my name is Ludacris and I'm like, bitch Let me tell you 'bout this super fly, dirty-dirty, third coast Muddy water, shawty pop that pussy if ya wanna Let me tell you 'bout this, old school, pourin' lean Candied yams and collard greens, pocket fulla stones riding clean Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Country-country shit I told 'em, "Aw, man, hold up, country is what country does" M-I-crooked letter, hoe Who you know do it better, folk? Pull up, hop out: clean, in my old-school time machine Keep a parachute for this altitude 'Cause when you riding this high, make it hard to breathe May Day, hollering out payday Knockin' pictures off the wall when I creep Pros get wet as fuck when I speak Southern drawl, it's just the way it be Heavy like sumo, numero uno Pourin' up brown, she sipping on Nuvo Pimpin' so cold, never trick on a hoe Outer space with the flow like I'm living on Pluto, you know Bitch, I'm UGK influenced Slow it down, chop, chop and screw it for the folk in Texas That forever reckon with the styrofoam cup and the purple fluid Return of 4eva, I thought you knew it Country shit, that's all I see That's all I know, that's all I feel That's all I am, that's all I'll be Let me tell you 'bout this super fly, dirty-dirty, third coast Muddy water, shawty, pop that pussy if ya wanna Let me tell you 'bout this, old school, pourin' lean Candied yams and collard greens, pocket fulla stones riding clean Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Country-country shit Candy painted 'Lac Biarritz Sitting on 24's - Vogue Pull up on my scene and I mack your bitch It ain't hard to tell, I suppose she chose To send over the clothes, the wigs and shoes This Charlie Sheen pimping too big to lose Roll with trues and keep girls in twos Boy, you must've heard wrong, you abit confused See, I'm the big brother of Sweet James I know all about these street games But the trick gon' pay, the chick gon' say So she can't lie a'bout what she bring I'm certified like USDA Representing Texas, straight up out the PA Graduated the School of Hard Knocks with a BA Right under the nose of the Vice and the DA Anything we say, take it as law, nigga When I'm in the booth, no rubber, I'm raw, nigga Talk down get bust in your jaw, nigga Like I'm your pa, run go tell your ma, nigga No flaw nigga, 100% old school, no glass house, I'm under the tint Ask anybody here who running this shit It's Big Bun in this bitch Let me tell you 'bout this super fly, dirty-dirty, third coast Muddy water, shawty pop that pussy if ya wanna Let me tell you 'bout this, old school, pourin' lean Candied yams and collard greens, pocket fulla stones riding clean Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Let me tell you 'bout this country shit, country-country shit Country-country shit