[38 seconds of instrumental to open]



[Natti:]

We, flavor the muzak, chop this, Screw that

Take you to church in a verse and you move back

Holy Ghost from the lonely coast, pick humility

Facin critics cold fronts, blockin out humidity

We own rap - fo' sho' it's cognac, I twist yo' dome back

Our tracks seem to be nappy - but you can't comb that

Call it El Natural sound of soul

You ain't seen these darts and how fast they flown

From, 'tween these parts and the ones near known

My slang bang with a twang and hang on earlobes

You hear how daddy how there's Caddies with no steering column on 'em

With enough lines to dry all the clothes that you own

And since when did the South get pinned in a drought

Not never been clever since big Timbs been about

Reachin whatever levels that are suspended in doubt

That we as bad as yo' kids when this mic's to our mouth



I hear 'em talkin 'bout Southern folks can't rhyme

Some of y'all must be out your God damned mind

Yeah, it's about that time, we got that shine

Cause niggaz been about them lines

Since when? E'ry since a "Pocket Full of Stones"

Ridin dirty in a Chevy sittin heavy on chrome

Ever since Goodie Mo' had +Food+ for +Soul+

And them dirty red dawgs done hit the do'



[female voice:]

Y'all ain't ready for that shit yet

But be on the lookout for Cunninlynguists next album

"A Piece of Strange"