CHORUS:
(Nelly)
It's a Midwest thang y'all
And ain't got a clue
(Ain't got a clue)
Why my Cutlass blue
And I got them thangs
On that motherfucker too
It's a Midwest Swang y'all
Ain't gotta trip
(Ain't gotta trip)
While we swing and dip
(Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay)
'Cause we do big thangs
On the motherfuckin' hip
What you think, we live on a farm?
Nigga, be for real
We got Benz's, Rovers' and Jag's
Hummer's and Deville's
Got a green S Class
Ain't broke the do' seal
Sh*t ain't been the same
Since I signed Fo' Reel
This sh*t got ill, when I hit 4 mil
Five and countin', dirty six at will
Did seven on the slide, 8 worldwide
I'll be on my third Bentley
By the time I'm at 9
I hear 'em cryin'
"You gon' sell out"
Ya damn right
I done sold out before
And re-caught the same night
Straight hopped the next flight
Too Icey for sunlight
Dunkin' without Sprite
Yeah you heard me dirty
I'm from the Show-Me State
Show me seven I'll show you eight
Karats in one bling
Heavily starched jeans
Representin' St. Louis
Everytime I breathe
In the city I touch down
And I bob and weave, ay

Repeat chorus

(Murphy Lee:)
I sport my beeper on my boots
That's why I be a buzz when I kick
Maybe it's on my lips
It's chaos when I spit
Quarter man, quarter
Schoolboy, half Lunatic
Quarter rubber, quarter dick
Other half in yo chick
Keep a quarter of some sh*t
I'm the Pookey of the backyard
All colors and all types like a junkyard
High young boy with high young ways
'Cause I connect three blunts
And be high for three days
You can tell by the way I walk
I ain't from 'round hurr (here)
Probably couldn't tell 'cause
I ain't walkin' nowhurr (nowhere)
I got a old-school Cutlass
With a hole in the urr (air)
TV's urrwhurr (everywhere)
Wood grain to sturr (stare)
I don't curr (care)
Hell naw I ain't cuttin' my hurr (hair)
To the half in them Airforce 1's
Give me two purr (pair) ugh
I'm from the Lou and
What I do is a Lou thang
One rapper, two rings
And three chains

(Kyjuan)
Nothing but some ole country boys
That ride V12 horses
Saddle up and put
Spurs on my Airforce's
Back porches made for
Hide and go seek
We got space out here
We can ride and cheif
Ain't gotta worry 'bout
Nobody approachin' us
By the time they catchin' up
We smoked it up
And my eyes be red
My lips a lil' dark
St. Louis sportin' the Rams
Cards and lil' Arch
My dirty's love to spark
And love to sparkle
Love homies Vokal coats
With matchin' car do's (doors)
We racin' down sneakers
See how fast a car go
Granny be like "Ay, ya ya"
Like Ricky Ricardo
I know you wanna know
Why we do what we do
You cats ain't got a clue
Why the Cutlass blue
Brand new 22's on new UP's
With one, two, three
Four, five TV's

Repeat chorus

(Big Lee A.K.A. Ali:)
I'm sittin' on the front porch
Writin' a hood rhyme
Waitin' on my connect
To deliver that good line
Wish I would find
One seed in my weed
Sticks and shit
If I do somebody bleed
Pull right here
Eight pounds of Chinamen
Two stank bitches
Some blunts and Heineken
Hidin' in the back with the po' po'
Kicked in my do'do'
Man they some ho' hooo's
They put the gun to my earr
You know the Lord don't fear
Nann nigga, nann hoe
Let's keep that bullshit clearr
They had me face
Down in the skreet (street)
Errbody (everybody)
Watchin', thinkin' I'mma pull the heat
And leave the D-tects with
A leak in the skreet (street)
And that, pussy ass nigga
That set me up my peeps
Gon' give it to this nigga like NYPD
Beat the K, fuck coke
Now I'm back on my
Granny poche (porch) hustlin'