[Verse 1: Jhi-Ali]
With pencil in hand, paper and pistol in pants
I whip out my dick and commence to piss on this game
To me it's so simple and plain, see I'm equipped with the brain
I'm just some other rappers stuck in traffic, got infinite lanes
Ain't no end of this road, it just goes on and on and on
The show, the dough, the clothes, the hoes and mo'
I've gone for the gold as long's the motion been slow, so
Throw it in the low, I've been rollin' and smokin' the dro
I ain't 'bout to change, my Alabama slang
Ain't it man, in my Chevy grippin Alabama grain
Say it backwards 'I'm a baller', you eye-ballin my chain
Love the way I let it hang like they used to do to slaves
And these just facts, Jhi-Ali for the gee's in the trap
With their weed and their crack
For the P.I.M.Ps with their skis on the track
For my go-get-a-n***a in the streets gettin' stacks
For my go-to-school-n***as with degrees living legit, let's make it
Hustlers it's enough for us, fuck it, we just gon' take
Got 'em so tired of askin' us skippin' over the 'bama like we amateur
Watch when it dropping and goin' seven platinum

[Hook x2: Shawty Fatt]
Roll with us or get pissed on!
You ain't with us, then bitch get gone!
Yeah we marking 'em out
Just the mark of the south
Lights out, it's dark in this house
[Verse 2: Shawty Fatt]
I'm one lyrical motherfucker, the truth I better stack on it
Just got finished with cut track on it
Then I jumped back on it, then ride out
Fuck this motherfucker like a glasshouse
Slap that [?] n***a
[?]
My spit ain't never been spitted, n***as I did it
You can hit any track I bet, when I rap authentic
Get him gone, he can't spit it long, he's loving it dog
Go and sit down on him, Shawty Fatt climb on him
Bow-wow, fuck that, bow down, I’m Wild ‘N Out
I spit better whenever you spit out your mouth
I'm the shit, sitting next to the best [?]
You kill [?], the rest gon' pay that, n***a now fuck!
Y'all stop, we up on top of the game
We up on top of your-lame's
Get buttfucked by the flame
What's this motherfucker name?
[?]
Plus I'm a [?] pendejo, (Puta!) adios amigos, got toast
With that bullshit that he wrote. I spit [?]
Which way did he go? Now don't run now
This shit ain't that funny
Cause I finally got this going down
[Hook]

[Verse 3: Yelawolf]
The crooked side of the tracks made me work for the culture
I rest my pen on the books of this prison to get over
If I wasn't meant to sit at the throne with these other kings
Then a peasant I be, uncontent and unfree
Reality televison got me recognition
Who knew by the work of Hollywood, you would see me spittin'
But forgettin' my roots is an impossibility, buddy
The [?] on my people reaches through my activity
Such as the rhyme you hearin' now
My blood's pumpin' since Eminem is the first
I'm the second coming, elected one in a million by a million and one
With a few billion on the planet, you calculate the outcome
Out the state at last come and observe the work
My trunk's popped, made my own shirts and dispersed them on the block
Rehearsed and wrote a drop for many producers, they slept
Alarm clock buzzin', I kept it cocked, hey cousin!
I'm comin' up, be ready to get crushed
By the crimson tide, we ride, holdin my state up
Don't get touched with the A, 'bama is the pride
Homie don't make the mistake, hush, Alabama soldiers ride

[Hook]