Southern Takeover - Chamillionaire, Killer Mike, Pastor Troy

The sound of revenge, haha

Woo, tell em what it is mayne

Tell 'em what it is

Welcome to the New World Order

Atlanta, Georgia

Houston, Texas, he already know

The south is takin over

Just look over your shoulder

Shoulder

Let me see who just showed up

SShowed up

It’s the southern takeover

It’s over

You better tell em I got drinks that stand on top try and stop

Pop pop pop

It’s the Mr. Falcon Toter, cook cook coke with baking soda

Blun roller, dro smoker, wood gripper, pistol whipper

Light your nigga if he figure fuckin' wit my click will make him

Richer, he should know instead of it will make him deader

Deader money, fucking with my money, get yo money

Stacked right out of Sunday School

On a bright and sunny sunday, this ain’t fun

I ain’t joking bout my coke and package from a shaolin

Might kidnap your wife and daughter, bury them down deep in Georgia

No D.A.

or fucking lawyers prosecuting witnesses

We executing, start to shooting, starting to do this fucking violence

Start a riot, get this muthafucker crunk or as crunk you can get it

That that dro, I’m a hit it, out of line, nigga I spit it

Spit it, live it, cause I live it, you don’t walk it, you just talkin

Pistol totin and they knowing that’s my snow and got his dope and

I ain’t holdin, steady slangin, right on your black-a-block

Hit your trap, set up shop, try and stop, blot blot block

Just look over your shoulder

Shoulder

Let me see who just showed up

Showed up

It’s the southern takeover

It’s over

You betta tell em I got drinks that stand on top try and stop

Pop pop pop

This ain’t about a image, this ain’t about a gimmick

Cause you stand to the side and the game gotta diminish

I’m damn sure that this city don’t think that he the realest

He whooping on his ass before he finishing his sentence

I’ve only got a minute to tell you about a digit

You looking at a nigga like I ain’t about to get it

I’m looking at the money like I ain’t about to finish

So you need to mind your business if you worried bout your business

Uh, I’m a H-Town Soldier, I’m a come

With the trunk up, and don’t remind cha

If you say your getting it, shoulda told you bout a

Nigga named Chamillionaire that’s fo sho a problem

You don’t want no problem

Problem

Got amnesia gonna let the fo-fo remind 'em

Yeah you tip on and ride em, We ride 4−4s when the dough beside 'em

6'6 taller looking like he a sinner, 10 tattoos looking like he a killer

Skinny ass niggas don’t fight with a nigga, Pull out a billfold,

put a price on a nigga

It’s kinfolk, put a knife in a nigga from his car to his pocket then right in

his liver

It was a big boy to put a slice in the middle,?

Mr. Mike with the killer

Don’t mess with the south, homie that’s a dream, hallucinating or imagining

We so XXL with the gats I mean, something ready to blow in the magazine

You know that them southern cash is mean, front dents smile for me when I stash

my cream

Pull up with the candy paint that’ll match my green, Killer, Pastor,

they just ain’t imagining

Just look over your shoulder

Shoulder

Let me see who just showed up

Showed up

It’s the southern takeover

It’s over

You betta tell em I got drinks that stand on top try and stop

Pop pop pop

Y’all know me as PT, well uh huh and all of that

Black on black with black tip, I can’t help but represent

I content I wanna know who the fuck you take me for

Studio rappers without your boy’s tape, drop my top and bust my ak

No more play in G-A, yeah that’s a classic

Riding in the classic, totin' me a plastic

Send 'em to the casket, send 'em to the morgue

Slap me a nigga cause I’m muthafuckin' bored

Chamillionaire, I kinda fond of my surroundings

Get my Desert Eagle and get to muthafuckin' pounding

Up and down the street, throwin' heat out the driver seat

Riding to the beat, tell them niggas adjust they feet