CHORUS:

(Nelly)

It's a Midwest thang Jeff

And ain't got a clue

(Ain't got a clue)

Why my Cutlass blue

And I got them thangs

On that motherfucker too

It's a Midwest Swang y'all

Ain't gotta trip

(Ain't gotta trip)

While we swing and dip

(Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay)

'Cause we do big thangs

On the motherfuckin' hip

What you think, we live on a farm?

Nigga, be for real

We got Benz's, Rovers' and Jag's

Hummer's and Deville's

Got a green S Class

Ain't broke the do' seal

Sh*t ain't been the same

Since I signed Fo' Reel

This sh*t got ill, when I hit 4 mil

Five and countin', dirty six at will

Did seven on the slide, 8 worldwide

I'll be on my third Bentley

By the time I'm at 9

I hear 'em cryin'

"You gon' sell out"

Ya damn right

I done sold out before

And re-caught the same night

Straight hopped the next flight

Too Icey for sunlight

Dunkin' without Sprite

Yeah you heard me dirty

I'm from the Show-Me State

Show me seven I'll show you eight

Karats in one bling

Heavily starched jeans

Representin' St. Louis

Everytime I breathe

In the city I touch down

And I bob and weave, ay



Repeat chorus



(Murphy Lee:)

I sport my beeper on my boots

That's why I be a buzz when I kick

Maybe it's on my lips

It's chaos when I spit

Quarter man, quarter

Schoolboy, half Lunatic

Quarter rubber, quarter dick

Other half in yo chick

Keep a quarter of some sh*t

I'm the Pookey of the backyard

All colors and all types like a junkyard

High young boy with high young ways

'Cause I connect three blunts

And be high for three days

You can tell by the way I walk

I ain't from 'round hurr (here)

Probably couldn't tell 'cause

I ain't walkin' nowhurr (nowhere)

I got a old-school Cutlass

With a hole in the urr (air)

TV's urrwhurr (everywhere)

Wood grain to sturr (stare)

I don't curr (care)

Hell naw I ain't cuttin' my hurr (hair)

To the half in them Airforce 1's

Give me two purr (pair) ugh

I'm from the Lou and

What I do is a Lou thang

One rapper, two rings

And three chains



(Kyjuan)

Nothing but some ole country boys

That ride V12 horses

Saddle up and put

Spurs on my Airforce's

Back porches made for

Hide and go seek

We got space out here

We can ride and cheif

Ain't gotta worry 'bout

Nobody approachin' us

By the time they catchin' up

We smoked it up

And my eyes be red

My lips a lil' dark

St. Louis sportin' the Rams

Cards and lil' Arch

My dirty's love to spark

And love to sparkle

Love homies Vokal coats

With matchin' car do's (doors)

We racin' down sneakers

See how fast a car go

Granny be like "Ay, ya ya"

Like Ricky Ricardo

I know you wanna know

Why we do what we do

You cats ain't got a clue

Why the Cutlass blue

Brand new 22's on new UP's

With one, two, three

Four, five TV's



Repeat chorus



(Big Lee A.K.A. Ali:)

I'm sittin' on the front porch

Writin' a hood rhyme

Waitin' on my connect

To deliver that good line

Wish I would find

One seed in my weed

Sticks and shit

If I do somebody bleed

Pull right here

Eight pounds of Chinamen

Two stank bitches

Some blunts and Heineken

Hidin' in the back with the po' po'

Kicked in my do'do'

Man they some ho' hooo's

They put the gun to my earr

You know the Lord don't fear

Nann nigga, nann hoe

Let's keep that bullshit clearr

They had me face

Down in the skreet (street)

Errbody (everybody)

Watchin', thinkin' I'mma pull the heat

And leave the D-tects with

A leak in the skreet (street)

And that, pussy ass nigga

That set me up my peeps

Gon' give it to this nigga like NYPD

Beat the K, fuck coke

Now I'm back on my

Granny poche (porch) hustlin