* send corrections to the typist

[DJ Paul]
Now what you bitches wanna do
What you bitches wanna do, talk some shit

Get your ass beat black and fucking blue
By the new dangerous crew da fucking HeadBussaz
They turned us down for weed in they hood
Cause they ain't trust us, them niggas nothing but bustaz
They knew we had them skull bussaz, in our back pockets
Ready to rob and bust them, you hear me
I gotta dust them, off like some old books
Cause they fucked around with some old crooks
I'm talking bout King, I'm talking bout Fiend
I'm talking bout that nigga Juicy on the fucking scene
We got these auto's with them quieter's twisted at the tip
For no sounds, nothing but silence when these bitches rip
And rip a bitch head clean from they gold chain
Cause these boys had them gassed up like propane
I bring the pain like ten Taliban's on a {plane}
And we ain't quitting until your muthafuckin heart lose, nigga

[Chorus]
If you ain't from Memphis Tenn., it's gone be sum shit
They some wild muthafuckas, who you fucking wit
If you ain't from New Orleans, it's gone be sum shit
They some crazy muthafuckas, who you fucking wit
If you ain't from Chi Town, it's gone be sum shit
They some gang banging niggas, who you fucking wit
If you ain't from ATL, it's gone be sum shit
They some scrappin' muthafuckas, who you fucking wit

[Juicy J]
What you know bout the muthafuckin North, North
In the hood niggas drinking, smoking Newports
All them old school players bumping Too $hort
If they got that fire weed, they put in two torts
And them killing drug dealers, mane they stay in court
For that slanging or that killing or some child support
If my nigga go to jail, we gone hold a fort
Riding around bumping system with the cd distort
You can call me mister d-o-p-e with the glock then I p-o-p
Don't have my change, it's a d-e-a-d
Written on your forehead, don't fuck me
We keep artillery, you might can't see
Hiding in the bushes or a scope in the tree
So don't be playing with that nigga Juicy
They might find your body somewhere overseas

[Chorus]
If you ain't from Houston, Texas, it's gone to be sum shit
They some syrup shipping niggas, who you fucking wit
If you ain't from Mississippi, it's gone be sum shit
They some rope hanging niggas, who you fucking wit
If you ain't from Alabama, it's gone be sum shit
They some head busting niggas, who you fucking wit
If you ain't from Cashville, it's gone be sum shit
They some robbing muthafuckas, who you fucking wit

[Fiend]
Hands down, this for them scams
And that are saying by the pound
Tilt the scale, we just playing
Laying they ass in the ground
Gram baggers, coke handlers and lb movers
Yeah man, pack your shit
Cause I can see right through ya
To these bustaz, drug smugglers
That's under the world
All for the love of the girl
Fuck up my nadir
We swirl, quick dust
Making off with the furl
You step on it three times
And do your thang on the world
Uh huh only talking what I used to
Y'all do what you do
Highly grow one seven
And we messing with that voodoo
Got colors yellow down to the doo doo
You wouldn't short, we could moved you
Stick you like some glue too
Serve your ass like the lunch line
Point blank you want something of mine
On the block nothing to find, slide to the alley
Don't need the work badly
But fill prescriptions gladly, you heard me

[Chorus]
If you ain't from Arkansas, it's gone be sum shit
They some kidnapping niggas, who you fucking wit
If you ain't from Dallas, Texas, it's gone be sum shit
They some Mexican niggas, who you fucking wit
If you ain't from Miami, it's gone be sum shit
They some dope pushing niggas, who you fucking wit
If you ain't from St. Louis, it's gone be sum shit
They some pimp juice drankers, who you fucking wit