Текст песни West Savannah - OutKast
[Big
Boi]
February
1st,
1975
it
happened
Was
born
in
West
Savannah
way
before
I
started
rappin
My
mamma
had
a
nigga
at
the
age
of
fifteen
My
daddy
was
sellin
that
sack,
now
he's
gots
responsibilities
Stayed
at
me
granny's
while
me
mammy
was
at
work
And
she
couldn't
watch
my
every
move
so
shit
I
started
servin
Around
Frazier
Home,
down
in
the
West
Side
projects
Changin
over
foodstamps,
and
hittin
a
lick
was
next
see
I'm
just
a
playa
like
that,
my
jeans
was
sharply
creased
I
got
a
fresh
white
t-shirt
and
my
cap
is
slightly
pointed
East
So
flyin,
or
floatin,
a
Brougham
is
what
I'm
sportin
Sade
is
in
my
tape
deck,
I'm
movin
in
slow
motion
boi
So
meet
me
deep
in
the
streets
that's
where
I
learned
the
capers
Us
lickin
blunts,
lickin
leaves,
rollin
reefer
papers
I'm
slightly
slouched,
in
the
seats
off
in
my
bucket
But
the
niggaz
around
the
Ave.
and
the
hoes,
they
love
me
They
wanna
be
me
and
my
family
too
Because
the
money
that
I
make
be
puttin
cable
off
in
every
room
So
follow
the
beans,
follow
my
lead
through
the
nooks
and
crannies
It's
everyday
life
off
in
my
hood
so
come
and
holla
at
me
But
go
'head
on,
with
that
foolishness
bitch
Let
me
get
lovely
with
my
swerve
because
I'm
true
to
this
shit
And
if
you
comin
with
eight
dollars,
you
shit
out
of
luck
Because
the
West
Side
ain't
takin
no
shorts
on
the
dime
So
fire
it
up
Chorus:
Now
now
now
nine
in
my
hand,
ounce
in
my
crotch
Diggin
the
scene
with
a
gangsta
slouch,
mmmmhmmmm!
(Like
that
now,
like
this,
and
it
don't
quit,
and
it
don't
stop)
Nine
in
my
hand,
oune
in
my
crotch
Diggin
the
scene
with
a
gangsta
slouch,
mmmmhmmmm!
(And
it
don't
stop,
and
it
don't
quit,
it's
like
that
and
ah)
See,
niggaz
in
the
South
wear
gold
teeth
and
gold
chains
Been
doin
it
for
years,
so
these
niggaz
ain't
gone
change
They
comin
around
the
ghetto
so
you
might
call
em
soul
Been
wearin
furry
Kangol's,
so
that
shit
is
old
You
might
slang
a
rock
or
two
just
to
pay
the
rent
Five
dollars
for
a
table
dance
so
now
your
money's
spent
You
listen
to
that
booty
shake
music
in
your
trunk
As
long
as
there's
that
"tic
tic"
followed
by
that
bump
I'm
down
to
stick
a
hoe
if
she
got
a
G-strang
Cause
the
niggaz
in
the
Pointe
ain't
changed,
main
You
might
call
us
country,
but
we's
only
Southern
And
I
don't
give
a
fuck,
P-Funk
spot
to
spark
another
Chorus
w/
variations
(repeat
to
end)
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