You know who this is mayne

Big Kuntry King

Uh c'mon

South Cack, North Cack, GA, Tenn-A-Key, Alabama, the whole Florida, the 'Sipp, Louisiana, Texas

We here

My swag is sauced up

I, is bossed up

Trap is ralled up

Pockets is racked up

Cars they sit up

Flow is flawless

And she know, and he know

Ya'll nothin' like us

And we here, and we here, and we here, and we here

And uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, yeah

And we here, and we here, and we here, and we here

Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, yeah

I'm a big dawg, (dawg) yeah real boss, (boss)

Ya'll best rappers, (what) I'm a real one

I don't wear ones, (yeah) just Louie V, (yeah)

Antique wife beater wit a white tee, (yeah)

And my big jewels make me look outstandin'

I'm surprised half you wack **** still standin'

I ain't even got a album, girls throw me panties, (oohhh)

I'm so hot, you might as well fan me

So up the ante, Grand Hustle a hammit

I'm tap dancin' on **** like I'm Sammy

Streets only got one phrase for me

God damnit, I'm so arrogant I know ya can't stand me

I got them bandana shawty's, (shawty)

Hundred rack homies, (homie)

Goons and the goblins, yeah they kill for me, (yeah)

Plus I'm killin' em, (yeah) game I be killin' it, (yeah)

What these rappers rap about I be really livin' it

Yes I'm illy bitch, so sick, ain't no healin' this, (what, nah)

**** talkin' funny like they full of helium, (aye)

Not even realizin' that I'm the one that's feedin' them

Million dollar trap that's me, cocaine rap that's me

Got it from yo middle man, where he got the work for me

**** talkin' shit but I'm the one they cannot see

Ya'll nothin' like me, a gangsta you'll never be

You feelin' me, (yeah) well you oughta ****, (okay)

Cause these rappers change like leaves in autumn ****, (that's right)

These rappers get soft after every record, (yeah)

While I'm spittin' that soft on every record, (yeah)

They want my residue off of every record, (yeah)

I'm the hardest in the south, I guess I'm sellin' records, (yeah)

And for the record, you need to recognize, I'm the big homie, point, period, underline

Yes I'm runnin' the court, trappin' like it's a sport

Still spendin' money in the club but love no whore

Still run clean while you suckas be hatin' boy

Still be the one from the hood that'll die for

Yeah

Yeah

Yeah

We here, we here, we here, we here

Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh

Yeah

Yeah