| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
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| To all it was
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| All it is
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| And all it shall be
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| New South
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| Uh, yeah, yeah (motherfuckers)
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| I gotta key Bubba answers, a kilo of questions
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| The heart for humility, that ego perplexes
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| Strength, will and honor, a hero’s possessions
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| On the road to destiny I need no directions
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| Far to Southerners, the best man the winner
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| And only this morning does the best man remember
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| Fighters seen the weak, more success than inventors
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| And a saint never ever suffers less than a sinner
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| But I’m proud to admit that this shit no longer
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| Phases or amazes me, I only grow stronger
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| At any given moment this world can so long ya
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| Box you up, drop you in the dirt and slow song ya
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| So every blessed minute I’m breathin
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| I’m conceivin, for when I do perish, reasons for your grievin
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| That’s not to say I plan on leavin here this evening
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| I’ll be in Honolulu with Steven next season
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| Dear God, left, right
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| Life will pass by
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| Breathe in, exhale
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| I scream, you yell
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| New South! |
| (New South!)
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| New South! |
| (New South!)
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| Ew, a ew, (break it down)
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| Ew, a ew (break it down)
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| And we gonna rush 'em with a blitz on this
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| Go round the world and hit every other upper scale and project brick with it
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| Bubba Sparxxx who meet with the Organized Godly beat
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| Man it’s funny how God can be when you work hard to achieve
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| It’s still slaw nigga (*vocal scratch*), spittin that Pac liquor
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| This is straight up pocket party, your summer that not nigga
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| Classical rhymes got most cats tryna battle with Ken
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| Bet they won’t «go up shit creek without they paddle again»
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| Come down to my town, bet you won’t visit Athens again
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| And I write that hard har, roll like I got crack in my pen
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| But since your so happy that things go exactly as planned
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| Don’t clack if we land, then it’s crack a lackin again
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| Then most of these clowns up outta the pay
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| All I need is a stout, clean your coolatta and day
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| And the day that I’m able to finally get outta the game
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| What this hip hop has become is what the New South gotta change
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| Bring it back
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| What difference does it make, who I’m affiliated with
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| Cause if you love 'em, how could you have really hated this
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| All the groundbreakin these hillbilly maders did
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| Wasn’t no room for +Bubba Talk+ until we made it did
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| I flow for Jimmy Mathis on that bus route daily
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| And for momma June and all she fuss about lately
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| I’m a get it white, if your hairless for Governor
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| I’m tellin y’all the yanks ain’t prepared for this southerner
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| C-Dub certified, DF, dignitary
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| Beat Club, they applaud, New South, visionary
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| In spite of the efforts y’all made to pigeon hole me
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| I rose from the pig shit without a smidgen on me
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| At 15, 90, Adam’s drive makin miracles
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| For these many much, yes and everyday is pivotal
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| I’m no entertainer so what I say is literal
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| You say you «New South», faker tat it on your genitals |