You're Everything
Bun B


You're Everything Lyrics

[Bun B]
Man f'real I love bein from the Dirty South mayne
It made me the G I am today, made me the hustler I am today
The grinder, the baller; the gangster I am today mayne
Lot of people got opinions and, issues and, problems with
what they see comin from the South and who doin what in the South mayne
But I'ma tell you like this - f*ck YOU DAWG~! This the South nigga
We gon' be here, we been here, and ain't goin no motherf*ckin where
Take it how you like it, hate it or love it hoe!

It's that candy paint, 84's, belts and buckles, chrome and grill
Leather seats, stitch and tuck, TV screens and wooden wheels
Suede roof, neon lights, whole tire swang and bang
Tops drop, blades chop, fifth wheel just hangin mayne
White T's, fitted hats, Jordans or the dickies (dickies)
That Swisher sweet, cigarillos filled up with the sticky (sticky)
The fifteens bam'n and the bass kick-kickin
Cadillac do's slammin on them po'-po's tippin
We ain't trippin just flippin these haters dip when they see us (dip when they see us)
Cause they could never beat us best us or be us
I'm a G that's a genius, best to just respect my thuggin mayne
It's the South, ain't nothin above it and that's why I love it mayne!

[Chorus: Jodeci samples]
You're everything I knew! (Ohh yeah)
Do what you want me to (I will doooooooo anything)
Get on my knees for you (ohhhhhhhhhh bab-bayyy)
What else is there to do (I don't know, I don't know, but I'll cry)

[Rick Ross - talking over Chorus second half]
Yeah, keepin it trilla baby; Texas, P.A. to H-Town
3-oh-5 to Mi-Yayo... you know what it is

Pray at night when you sellin white, got one ki' tryin to sell it twice
Yellow stones all in my shit, yellowbones all on my dick
Honeycomb I call my crib, money long that's on my kids
R.I.P. to my Uncle Chad, UGK you can't f*ck wit that Niggaz fake, they hate candy paint, and all the paper that your partner make
Shakin dice like a face of life, champagne just ain't tastin right
Haterade they Gatorade, look at these seats they gator made
Friend or foe niggaz never know (know) never know when you fin' to blow

[David Banner]
Dude scrapin the curb, dippin sippin some syrup
Fingers blistered twisted Swishers, Pimp died and it hurt
But I handle my issue, I got several pistols
that won't whistle, missles knockin gristle from fatty tissue
Mississippi's my home, 'til I'm die and I'm gone
I know I put it on my back, held that bitch up alone
With no label b-backin, pride split into fractions
I hit the ocean on peggy bustin back at the crackin
And y'all scared (y'all scared)


Lets talk about Pimp C, Bun B, Eightball, MJG
Big Boi, Dre 3000, Scarface, Willie D
T.I.P, Young Jeezy, Birdman, Lil Weezy
Trick Daddy, Young Buck, SoSoDef, Jermaine Depri
J Prince, Rap-A-Lot, Juicy J, DJ Paul
Slim Thug, Lil' Keke, Chamillionare, Paul Wall
We all different but we all rep the same thang
God first, family then money in the South mayne

They call me PEEIMP TYTE! MJG
The Dirty South, is everything I want
Everything I need, everything I'm longin for
when I'm outta town gotta get home, just for
Everything that I been raised to love, the wisdom my grandmomma gave to us
Racial profilin, police harassment regular days to us
You say door, we say do'; you say four, we say fo'
You say whore, we say hoe; you want more, but we want mo'
What else is there left for me to do?
This the dedication from me to you
The South, I know you gonna see, me through
So until I die I wanna be, wit'chu
You're everything


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Songwriter(s): Levell Crump, Raymond E. Jones, Donald Degrate, Leroy Williams Jr, Bernard Freeman, Donald Grate, Premro Vonzellaire Smith, William Roberts, Marlon Goodwin, Robert Jones
Publisher(s): Holly Rob And Dr. Ray Music, De Swing Mob Inc., First And Gold Publishing, SonyATV Songs LLC, Crump Tight P
Record Label(s): 2010 Rap A Lot
Official lyrics by

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