Lyrics
My tone
(Tell me do you love it)
My southern slang
(Tell me do you love it)
I’m sorry girl
(Tell me do you love it), OW!
(Tell me do you love it)
Gettin jazzy
(Tell me do you love it)
I’m so jazzy baby
(Tell me do you love it)
Gettin jazzy
(Tell me do you love it) OW!
(Tell me do you love it), c’mon
Yeah, I’ll be damned if I ain’t the slick son gun y’all seen
Walkin like a swallowed up the pharmacy at Walgreens
Never did I love her, sorry baby it was all clean
Who you think you dealin with?, this Jimmy Mathis' offspring
Forty I was deep on the eighty I was there
Knock it out put on my boots and get the hell up out of there
You know a rapper’s rule, in and out before the snare
And as far as parting shots, wash that shit up out your hair (OH)
Stob block, Cobb block, Dodge Ram, got Knox
Six twelves, four amps, three sluts, what’s hot
I told ya once hot shot, you done braggin too hot
Reach inside that tool box, there is when the feud stops
Papa was a Rolling Stone, but I’m a ballin boulder
And I ain’t gotta flex the chain, or hit the mall to show ya
I just hibernate a while and call ya when it’s over
Don’t know where I’m headed but it’s pretty far from sober
Yeah I fucked up in life, but wouldn’t start it over
Cause momma said that God said he got a party for ya
And I’m a give ya lord, every beat a heart I owe ya
It sounds a bit cliche but Bubba Sparxxx a soldier (OW)
What you know about balin hay in that South Georgia heat
Very few roads are paved, still I do it for the streets
There’s a heap a shit to lose, but there’s even more to keep
If you feelin froggy baby, better look before you leap
Baby it’s the tone, that got me gettin 'Georgia Dome'
Like Shondon, with that Steven on the phone
Or maybe it’s the slang, that got me gettin down my brains
On the plane, met this chick in Fort Mayne
And you certaintly can blame the jazziest persona
But it’s classy broad that get trashy in the sauna
Bubba’s just the slickest, how else is there to word it
I’ll just plead my case, and then let y’all unveil the verdict