Mr. DJ - Flaw Boyz lyrics

[ INTRO: Juvenile ] What's up whodie? This Juvenile Nino, Cash Money Millionaire Doin this here My boys from the ATL, Jim Crow And we all should say to all you playa-hatin muthaf**as Y'all better respect the South We on a come-up, n***a And we did this sh** for the hoodrats, the hot girls The hot boys, the three-time losers, the drug-abusers I don't give a f** what you do, n***a Stick to what you do [ Hook ] It be them Flaw Boyz, ???? Thinkin we was country on some hee-hi-haw We like Kane in the Eighties, we RAW, boy f** around and make me come up in your jaw, boy [ VERSE 1: Mr. Mo ] I say no more talk, my liquor is malt A n***a never went to jail cause I ain't never got caught Now see it ain't my fault your boys sketched in chalk ???? shoulda learned the game that you bark See some n***as, they make me mad These hoes, they got it bad They ain't recognize, do the math And you will see they all b**h-made, lemonade Grown as hell but they actin like they 8th grade You need to play with a full deck Work a sweat, break a b**h and all I want is my check Is that bad to flex, is your girlfriend next? To get spiced up late night, Frapper's Delight (n***a, whatever you like) [ VERSE 2: Cutty Cartel ] On point like they droppin a beat, let's be discrete About these bullsh** stories you hear up in the street I'm down to my last sheet, no mo' chance to roll Control everything I do, now how 'bout you? Me, he and even she Whoever who, no debate, I can't wait On shortie, to see what they do When they lose it all and ball, no flaw While you lickin all off on her bra We lickin for the cheese in the cash drawer With the safe unlocked, over a boy that got got And it's some foolish-a** spot, the back of the room Not knowin that his last breath has been consumed He done ballin [ Hook ] [ VERSE 3: Polow ] Ha-ha-ha (Yo, who the f** is he?) Shawty Pimp The n***a that gives a damn 'bout a b Roaddogs run the streets, keep a beetch on a leash Eat good for the free, Fleetwood, a Caprice That's what we ride in, hide in from no enemy Preacher daughters freakin me, so-called players envy me Hennessy has the tendency to make a n***a stupid Can't whup my a** and all the alcohol said you can do it But you clueless thinkin that drink make you ruthless Now you're toothless runnin around town lookin stupid Cause cupid got your heart, gave your b**h a credit card But she still f** around with them players on boulevard I don't care how hard the sound on your record You don't want nann ?? Shawty Pimp, not one second Huh? Not one second, b**h, not one second Now praise the Lord for these lyrical blessing [ VERSE 4: Juvenile ] Direct your sh** at Juvenile cause I'm the n***a that you hate Don't try to throw a brick from a distance, then hide your faces See, the places that I been you can't hang Unless I took you under my wing and I put you in the game Ever since I been walkin on this Converse soil b**hes been joining forces and makin blood boil But I'm here to spoil the whole royal ??? stop ??? who*es from playin Over no, you must be crazy, ha, is ya? Boy, listen to me when I'm talkin before I get witcha Whip ya, rip your little dreams apart Take that same rhyme you bought it from me and then let it spark Depart before your people talkin seekin vengeance That's how I'mma handle business, f** what's the consequences Hittin your residence with Russian-made instruments Your neighbors hollerin, run, trippin and call for the President [ Hook ] Boy, we be serious round this sh**, dirty Ain't nobody f**in with the South [ Juvenile ] What's up The HB's done hooked up with them Jim Crows, ya heard me? And guess what, we ain't no hoes, n***a CMR, ATL there's no tomorrow, n***a Cash Money Millionaires in this muthaf**a My n***a B-32 My n***a B.G. is here My n***a Lil Wayne, my n***a Lil Turk My n***a Mannie Freezie f** it, n***a Down South (Down South)