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    Nappy Roots / Lyrics

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    "Awnaw [Acappella]" Lyrics

    Nappy Roots

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    Lyrics

    Yeah, haha Nappy Roots
    Awwnaw!

    Awnaw! Hell naw! Man
    Y'all done up and done it
    Awnaw! Hell naw! Boy
    Y'all done up and done it
    Awnaw! Hell naw! Boy
    Y'all done up and done it
    Ah, y'all done up and done it
    Man y'all done up and done it

    My first song was like forty-eight bars with no hook
    You hear me flippin through my pages out my favorite notebook
    The microphone was in the closet (What?)
    No headphones, we lost it
    Niggas scared to get some water, roaches hangin over the faucets
    No AC, Tez'll break a sweat just tryin to make beats
    E-Dubz was being a hustler, (Heeeyy man!)
    All play flirtin all his customers, and flat broke
    Nappy smokin blacks out on the back porch
    I'm thinkin I got everything a country boy could ask for

    Now what we do to get here? (Say dat boy!!)
    Lay it down and bring it to ya raw (Say dat boy!!)
    Hey now we hurt some, suffered for more, takes what we work for
    Hated for for the cussin, but the hatred it made us cuss more
    Held on, but it was hard - stepped up, took charge
    Ran through what we scared up, but what was we afraid for?
    Look what we made of, heart that what made us
    Being here is alright, but must believe we won't fall!

    Them country boys on the rise!
    With them big fat wheels on the side!
    Peep them vertical grills on the ride!
    And aw-awww-awww-awww!

    Them country boys
    With them big fat wheels
    Peep the vertical grills
    And awww!

    My yegga, we hog wild, bet that from that roota to that toota-file
    Hell naw, them country boys ain't headed south for six miles
    Kentucky mud, them kinfolk, twankies with them hundred-spokes
    Skullied on that front porch, plus you know they got 'dro
    Seventy-nine coupe DeVille vertical Caddy grill
    Interstate 65 headin down to Cashville
    Glass filled, to the tippy-top, back-seat Benz
    Spent my last cent on the rent, left with pocket lints
    A damn shame, gotta grind anything and everything
    Jimmy Crack Corn, cross the county line with Mary Jane
    A long time, a gravel road, to cash and fame and sold my soul
    To Hell and back, and back and forth, with same jeans and nappy 'fro

    I might, hop off the Harley, spoke mine like Bob Marley
    Not parties with charties, wallin like they swallowin Bacardi
    Them butter-skin, Prophit gotta like them
    Understand you 'bout to lose ya life fuckin with them!

    Them country boys on the rise!
    With them big fat wheels on the side!
    Peep the vertical grills on the ride!
    And aw-awww-awww-awww!

    Them country boys
    With them big fat wheels
    Peep the vertical grills
    And awww!

    Them country boys
    With them big fat wheels
    Peep the vertical grills
    And awww!

    Them country boys
    With them big fat wheels
    Peep the vertical grills
    And awww!

    Them country boys on the ride!
    With them big fat wheels on the side!
    Peep the vertical grills on the ride!
    And aw-awww-awww-awww!
    Them country boys
    With them big fat wheels
    Peep the vertical grills
    And awww!
    This song was submitted on November 24th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Kenneth R. Anthony, Melvin Adams, Vito J. Tisdale, W. James II Chambers, William Rahsaan Hughes.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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