Nappy Roots

Nappy Roots - Ballin' On A Budget lyrics

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I'm just a, big bang baller on a budget
 Dank weed, smokin like "fuck it"
 City slicker, country nigga, reppin straight from Kentucky
 Horseshoes and rabbit paws flossin, chicken closs for the lucky
 40 flowers, Range Rovers, so they know the tailpipe's rusted

 [Big V]
 Country cookin, dog fightin, big-body ridin
 Chillin like a mug in Western Kentuck', showin love
 Summertime a funner time, smoke and gunner time
 Sippin Sprite and somethin dark, every fuckin time

 [Scales]
 Uhh, okay watch how the po' folk ball
 Stomp through to mall in my overalls, the black Girbaud
 No pager, no cellphone, no access at all
 Just a pack of Dutch Masters and a pint of alcohol

 [Skinny DeVille]
 My hooptie, with a down crew like Boots said
 You don't  Perm ,  Fuck a  fade
 let my hair swang back and forth like a germ
 Ill nigga with sick shit, pull out this and stick it in this thick chick
 Baby mama drama, child support court and ain't worth the biscuit

 [Chorus: Skinny]
 Whattcha know about them backwood country folk?
 Whattcha know about the 'Lac bone hundred spoke?
 Jimmy Crack Corn; no fade, no comb
 Whattcha know about ballin on a budget bro?
 I'm just ballin on a budget yeaga (yeaga)
 I'm just ballin on a budget yeaga (yeaga)
 I'm just ballin on a budget yeaga (yeaga)
 It's the N the A the P-P-Y

 [B. Stille]
 Pull up, dead horns on the hood of my truck
 Kentucky Mud on my shoes and my socks
 Hungry Jack, pheffer tryna stuff some food in my gut
 Country cat in the cowboy hat
 I'm front to back put the house on that

 [Ron Clutch]
 Candied yams, chitlins, greens, and smoked country ham
 Chicken wings, cornbread, gran in the kitchen throwin down
 Eat good, tryna smoke somethin, run up on a pound
 Roll somethin, gut a vega tryna stuff it with a ounce

 [Big V]
 Hummin, mama cookin that mean it's Sunday mo'nin
 Half a pint of bootleg gin, it keep my goin
 Fat knot, (?) , bad daylight
 Cigars and happy bags, man we stay right

 [Scales]
 Aww man, we go back, like sweet pickle book clubs
 Nigga that was good love, summertime bathin in a foot tub
 Damn that shit hurt, and my jams in that shirt
 Atari 26, one stick, never worked

 [Chorus: Skinny]

 [B. Stille]
 Comin up in the woods, all I did was run barefoot
 Ne'er could comb my hair good
 My hairline grew like ten pound vines
 'Tween my rib and my underware
 It's still a thin brown line, shit

 [Big V]
 Chores did, and ma work out on the clothin line
 Cool as shit, country boys out on the grind
 River views, picknic, big ticks covered the place
 Folks visit, and make it apparent to come back again

 [Scales]
 Look here, see I smoke like a fire and a drink like a fish
 That's it, ecstasy just ain't on my list
 No comb, no brush, no fade, no pick
 No shit, no hair and you get no dick

 [B. Stille]
 Now we love them gals that love themselves, them southern belles
 Them Clydesdale Kentucky gals, with muddy tails
 We cut them gals, no veils, no wedding bells
 Trick on cheap hotels, KY gels and nothin else

 [Chorus: Skinny
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Copyrights:

Author: Brian Scott (2), James "Groove" Chambers, Melvin Adams, Vito Tisdale, William Hughes

Composer: ?

Publisher: Atlantic Recording Corporation, WEA International Inc.

Details:

Released in: 2002

Language: English

Appearing on: Watermelon, Chicken and Gritz (2002)

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