Aye, aye Bun who did this man?

So me and you got, T.I.P., Killer Mike, Lil Jon, and Bun B

So that's the King of the South.. the Underground King..

the King of Crunk.. and King Kong all on the same song

Heheh.. aye Jon, they ain't ready

We taking it on back to the trap my nigga!





I got them 'bows on my 'lac - swervin on these niggaz!

I got the hoe up in the back - bumpin niggaz figgaz!

I got the weed in my sack - smokin on that killa!

In the hood where I'm at - trappin with my niggaz!

I got the NEW NEW... (Killa K-K-K-Killa Killa...)

NEW NEW... (K-K-K-Killa Killa..)

NEW NEW... (K-K-K-Killa Killa..)

NEW NEW... (Niggaz don't wanna touch the Killa..)





Man we been throwin raps for too long

Aye whatchu wanna do homes?

I'm finna pull this heat and have you fetal like a new-born

T.I.P., Mike, and Bun B - scared whatchu better be

We was just the kings, now we heads of a legacy

Leaders of the new south, fake niggaz move out

He talkin loud and proud, but he scared with a tool out

I'm the nigga they be askin what we gon' do bout?

Mike told me "fuck them niggaz, bring that New New out"

Tank the Chevy, buy the Caddie, bring the 22's out

Put the city back on top, just seperate the fools now

We had lots of misrepresentation but hey we cool now

Can't keep playin both sides of the fence, you got to choose now

The realest of the real or the fakest of the fake

If ya got it on ya chest, shawty say it to my face

When ya hold ya nuts in hatred, ya only rushin til ya wait

And we gon' show them people what it really is in the A









Straight from Atlanta, the hog hand-ler

Grown folk trap, scramb-ler

Knee deep, means to get them G's to my manager

My mack-10 made for action, body-baggin and throat braggin

I'll drag 'em threw the river like a bad yellow nigga

I'm mashin with pops fashion, bustin first no questions askin

You gon' off that waterboat and thinkin you can hold me

I'm, King Kong on every track, no cap-sule can hold me

I'll THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP, when I BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP!

It's woofers, tweeters, speakers, geekers, ALL IN YO' TRUNK!

My dad ain't raise no fag, my mom ain't had no punk

We don't hesitate or negotiate, we pop Chevy trunks

From the home of Coca-Cola, I'm not referrin to soda

I'ma grind til I shine, or die going for mine

Sick Sawyer buy my side, swervin and blowin pine

Don't be a victim to a Killer, be a father to ya son

This Re-Akshon, Killa Kill, T.I.P., and Bun









Bitch I'm coming live from the trunk and I thrive on the funk

Cuz I'd rather die like a man than survive like a punk

I'm no coward, I'm 'dro-powered, you gettin Twin-Towered

devoured - it's a shit-storm and you bout to get showered

From Broward county to Harris, Pasadena to Paris

I embarrass niggaz on chrome wheels as big as the ferris

Cuz there is, now way now how - I stay low-key, low-brow

In that black on black on black in the 'lac cuz I'm so wild

I get, drunk off that, I'll be high off this

I might pop one of those, it don't matter my nigga - I don't miss

They put me hot on list, where players are posted

But them players we posted up on corners, when they say and get roasted

And the prayer get toasted, cuz I keep the flame on

The face for the game on - leave a stain on anything I puts my name on

Disrespect and the tech'll peck a player like Woody

Cuz cain't nuttin keep a trill nigga down, ask Khujo Goodie









All I gotta say is sucker emcees better run

The debate is now, who's the greatest emcee?

T.I.P., Killer Mike, or Bun?

We are not doing this for fun - this is a bloodsport

Emcees are dying, mothers are crying

and wack-ass niggaz will go out trying

It is officially a new day, I am officially the new mouth

AND THESE ARE THE EMCEES OF THE NEW SOUTH!!