CunninLynguists - Since When? lyrics

[38 seconds of instrumental to open] [Verse 1: Deacon & (Natti)] We flavor the music, chop this screw that Take you through church in a verse til you view fact Holy ghost, from the lowly coast, spit humility Facin critics cold fronts, blockin our humidity (We own rap) fo sho as Cognac'll twist yo dome back Our tracks? See, they be nappy (but you can't comb that) Call it el natural sound of soul You ain't seen these darts or how fast they've flown (From, ‘tween these parts and the ones ‘nere known My slang bang with a twang and hang on earlobes You hear Natti, hot as Caddies with no steering column on ‘em) With enough lines to dry all the clothes that you own (Since when did the south) get pinned in a drought? (Not never been clever since big pens been about Reachin whateva levels that'll suspend any doubt That we as bad as yo kids when this mics to our mouth) [Hook] I hear 'em talkin 'bout Southern folks can't rhyme Some of y'all must be out your God damned mind Yeah, it's about that time, we got that shine Cause n***as been about them lines Since when? E'ry since a "Pocket Full of Stones" Ridin dirty in a Chevy sittin heavy on chrome Ever since Goodie Mo' had Food for Soul And them dirty red dawgs done hit the do' [Verse 2: Deacon & (Natti)] (The Mason-Dixon Line, been across ya mind like night-sticks Rain down on the game and f** it up like white kicks I might switch, south-paw), knuckle to jaw (If another broke n***a spit about spendin it all I spit the gems that you splurge to put around neck So save that to pay back all your loans and debts) A Maybach and a plaque, is that all you get? Shhhit (We struggle to juggle talent with a helluva sales pitch) Standin on southern dirt that helped America get rich Ye' ain't gotta struggle with a shovel to dig this Cold as no power, after hours in the winter months Hot though (crock-pot flow) So here dinner comes Walk them shell toes down underground railroads (n***as fresh outta jail clothes, spittin like hell's close) And these words at slurred, maybe how you listen's blurred You ain't feelin sickness served?? muhf**a kiss a curb [Hook] I hear 'em talkin 'bout Southern folks can't rhyme Some of y'all must be out your God damned mind Yeah, it's about that time, we got that shine Cause n***as been about them lines Since when? E'ry since a "Pocket Full of Stones" Ridin dirty in a Chevy sittin heavy on chrome Ever since Goodie Mo' had Food for Soul And them dirty red dawgs done hit the do'