Project Pat - Ain't Allowed Where I'm From lyrics

[Intro: Juicy J] Trippy Nation n***a Young Ced on the beat, watch these snitches mane [Hook x2: Juicy J] These n***a's dropping dimes, they some real snitches The only dimes that I ever dropped was some b**hes I'ma cut some fingers, I'ma clip some tongues Cause all that point in talkin' ain't allowed where I'm from [Verse 1: Juicy J] n***a stuck off in the fare, f**ing with them bricks His partners put them laws on him, over a b**h These p**y n***a's scared, don't wanna take they charge They swear they hard but they softer then cotton balls (ho) Real n***a's go to jail and don't tell them nothing (true) Do that time, come back home then get back to hustling (true) We got everything for sale, but the kitchen sink (true) Keep my eyes on you snakes, I don't even blink (b**h) Boy you scared, you gonna tell them white folks everything (yes sir) To cut your time, you gonna give up errybody name (p**y) Snitching n***a you ain't straight, them folks gonna find you dead Cut your tongue out your mouth and put one in ya head [Hook x2] [Verse 2: Project Pat] The bigger the gun, the bigger the slug The bigger the hole for doc to plug Holdin' your head, I put you to sleep Body not found, mama gon' weep Droppin the dime and runnin your mouth Nowhere to run, down in the south Meet ya wrong, I hop on the phone Goons on route, burners out You screamin' pig, I blow up your wig Vocals smokin' just like a cig Blowin' on kush and sippin' on hen Forgive me father for your sin Meet ya wrong, I'm able again Convicted felon, back in the pen Pistol in face, you wit attention They goin' for twelve, I got em for ten He threw me them bowls, he knew I'm a boss He looking for bread, he know that's a loss I cross em a corn, mixed somethin' me deal And separate the fact from the real You play the cards, bet you a deal Behind them bars, now you gon' squeal You playin' these streets, we playin' for real Jail come wit it, swallow that meal [Hook x2] [Verse 3: Driicky Graham] Prime time snitchin' lies, got line twistin' guys Take the clip to make a flick no blind side or district 9 Trying to dodge prison time, all die for fishin' by Smith and 9's (pow pow pow), if you mention mines One: put you in a scope, two: clack then it's smoke Three. scoop you up and put ya body in a envelope Four: send yo folks jus ya head, chest, guts Now you leakin' body stinkin' up the Fed Ex truck And that fed pressure, makes the snitches wanna roast you They start droppin dimes like they coins miss the toll booth God as my witness man I swear to tell the whole truth Where I'm from we gets it done and act like we don't know dude [Hook x2]