[Chorus 4x - Nappy Roots]
(Yes) Oh yes it's them Lac Dogs, Caddy Hogs and D.T.S.'s
(Oh yes) It's them Lac Dogs, Caddy Hogs and D.T.S.'s
[Verse 1 - Skinny Deville]
Skinny talkin bout that wood with that custom leather, bangin down I-65
Slaw and slum but dubs are better, who you think gon' keep it live?
It's Nappy bitch, what have to come
Pay attention, learn your lesson, yup
We them country folk with Caddy Hogs and D.T.S.'s, Lac Dogs
What you think that Nappy gon' be broke forever? Shit naw
Hit the bank and cashin in on old investments
What, you ain't know about them country fried sessions?
Does that Likwit hit in '97 +Answer+ all yo' +Questions+?
Kentucky's on the map now, who you think done gave directions?
From the top and back down, we rep the country to perfection
Don't it look so slum with 55 from New York down to Texas?
Hella poor straight from the South and haters must respect this
[Chorus]
[Verse 2 - Ron Clutch]
(Let me tell you about it)
When I first got my baby she could barely start
A-hand-me-down from a real O.G., all day she stayed in park
Almost never did she drive
Born in 1979
And she weighed about a ton
Big ol' body built to run
First thing I done, hauled her over, had her hummin G notes
Underneath her hood, hundreds of horses powered her ego
Her government name was Coup Deville but I called her Miss Piggy
Top her with some (?) and fit her for some twenties (twenties)
Playas hate that I be trickin like she's all that I'm love with
So we took her to the edge and shoved it and still "Ball out on a Budget"
Dug in her guts, laced her up with leather and wood
Together it go good, us country boys forever stay hood
[Chorus]
[Verse 3 - B. Stille]
You shove that shit that go bump bump bump bump
And ya, shake the lock off her muh'fucker trunk
When ya, hit the block make her muh'fucker jump
Roll your window down, stop, look like somethin like a pimp
Roll that window back up, and show 'em they reflection and their ultrafade
Then chop on that sucka like Wesley's +Blade+
Escalade D.T.S., switch it up, keep them haters on they toes
Red Rolls, Fleetwood hoes
Can't believe it, when they see them twenty fo's, believe it
My ham and cheese the freshest
Now what I'm talkin bout? I give you three guesses
[Chorus]
[Verse 4 - Big V]
You feel the wind, don't ya?
You hear the tires squallin
Kentucky, Colorado, Boston down to New Orleans
Big bodies get it done, Dodge Ram preferably
Cause they do run run, they do run run
Black magic, lookin better then Wesson fryin a pan of fish
Gangsta leanin like they do in Los Angeles (that's gangsta)
Adjective, describin what I'm rollin in
Them country fellas ain't gon' stop it, we on the road again
[R. Prophet]
God damn, yes I am, the thriller with the skrilla
Got plans, Pac fan +Strictly 4 my N.I.G.G.A.Z.+
Stop starin, we not playin
Armor color kryptonite
Rims nice but thank God our dreams came to life
Fast roller, cash swoll up
The mind mold up
The crowd hold us
Soldiers quick to throw they rags when I roll up
Dimes is quarters
Sell liquor, my rhymes is colder
Prophet never look this fine since I grinded Cola
Roll up
