(feat. Twista & Bluesman Ceddy St. Louis)




[Intro: Bluesman Ceddy St. Louis]

Please settle downs, everybody sit down

Sit down for a second, Mildred!

Mildred, get yo' goddamn feet off the table

(It's a Big E beat!) C'mon now, shit

This is, this is why we don't ever have nothin man

It's a good evenin here, Ceddy St. Louis

This right here about to bring to the stage

is a gentleman from Port Arther, Texas

Real gentleman, real singer, real story teller

Real gangsta, a true veteran of the bid'ness

Y'all show him some love, talk to 'em Bun



[Bun B]

Thank y'all for comin to see me this evenin (yeah)

Cookin this cajun I laced it with seasonin (huh)

In here, I been here and don't plan on leavin

The king of the trill's 'bout to pass, who's receivin?

I'm throwin, I'm throwed on, the mic I explode

Slow all that bangin mayne just like my load

Don't test me or stress me, I'm in that mode

where I could just black out and leave yo' ass flo'ed

Benzes and Beamers I drove 'em and slabbed 'em

Big booty hoes I exposed 'em and grabbed 'em

Take 'em right out of they clothes and I have 'em

They pussy is golden (what) my dick is platinum

And hard as a diamond, I'm hard when I'm rhymin

I'm closer to God, like Eric B. I'm in

that get money frame of mind, any day and time

That's what this is and shit ain't no shame in mine



[Interlude: Bluesman Ceddy St. Louis ad libbing]



[Bun B]

Back on that bullshit so bring in the cattle

Ready for war so let's get to the battle

Niggaz is babies with bottles and rattles

The street lights is on, it's your curfew, ske-daddle

That all you got G? You comin up short

You ain't got the muscle, you ain't got the heart

You need actin classes, you can't play the part

Yo' mind ain't on money you need to get smart

I'm known to spit darts that'll land in the center

Right in the red for the breadwinner in her

Stack in the summer, the ball in the winter

I'm grippin that wood (shit) just got a splinter

You's a beginner, a novice, a rookie

How you got bricks when you can't cop a cookie?

We after paper, you after the nookie

You bet against me and you lost, pay the bookie



[Interlude: Bluesman Ceddy St. Louis ad libbing]



[Twista]

Twista~!

They can never run in my shoes, they know nothin 'bout the ones and the twos (nope)

Murder to the drums when I bruise, Twista killin them with Bun and the Blues (yup)

Competition better study harder cause I feel like we done found another tune (tune)

They gon' try to to be like Muddy Waters, I'ma be the man howlin at the moon (arooo!)

Comin up and standin on my stack (stack) a veteran but keep my lyrics dope (dope)

And you still listen out the ride (ride) I ain't even got a car note (nope)

Y'all ain't snappin cause you wicked crushed and I'ma get 'em, I could tell her (tell her)

Fall dash rapper when you tell 'em bust, he can even spit the a cappella ('pella)

He can even come right off the top (no) he don't kill 'em even though he crumb (no)

He can only kill 'em in the studio when somebody can help him make a song (yeah)

Ask me why I don't hear it, I told ya

It's nothin but bullshit lyrics in yo' folder (ha ha!)

On the blues we come colder, Bun B's a boa

constrictor, Twista inflicts the pain of a cobra

Flame and I'ma show ya, the remains of a soldier

Down home blues killin niggaz in the game, 'til it's over



[Outro: Bluesman Ceddy St. Louis ad libbing]