[Cars revving]



[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