Uh! It's really goin' down in the South bitch!
Yeah nigga! We know hip-hop and rap and all that shit started in the
Motherfuckin' East
Nah I'm sayin'? Then it went to the West coast and they did it a little bit better
Nah I'm sayin'? But now it's our time to shine down here nigga!
Nah I'm sayin'? So since y'all niggas keep sayin we ain't real hip-hop down here
We don't wanna be down with you bitch ass niggas!
So y'all stay up there with that bullshit!
This country rap tunes down here nigga!
Young Pimp! Young Bun! Underground Kingz!
All the O.G.'s that's recognizing the real, I got love for y'all
But all you bitch ass niggas talkin' down in ya records, you can eat a DICK!
Hold up!

Pushin' cocaine, serving pounds of weed
(pounds of weed pussy nigga)
Steady stayin' on the grind
(steady grinding, stay in the studio nigga)
Pussy nigga can't say he ain't hating me
(I know you hating me bitch, hold up)
Because if you did, then you wouldn't be lying (hold up)
But how in the hell am I supposed to respect the man?
(if it ain't respected, it ain't respected)
That talk down on every song (I hear you talkin' down nigga!)
You steady actin' like a bitch, you steady cryin your eyes out
(stop crying bitch!)
Say my name pussy nigga, we can get the shit on, on
Ooh yeah! (nah I'm talkin' 'bout?)

[Chorus]
Quit hatin' the South (baby)
We gettin' paper in the South (gettin money)
Quit hatin' the South (baby)
Quit hatin' the South

Well it's been a long time my nigga, I shouldn't have left you (I shouldn't have left)
When I some real trill shit to go left to
Gotta lot of respect fool (yeah), for the ones before me
But when my time came they act like they ain't know me
I've been down with rap music since Cold Crush and Melle (Melle)
Before MTV put Run-D.M.C. on the tele (tele)
Back when Whodini tried to tell ya about ya friends
Nigga I was giving rap all my time and my ends
Bought damn near every record the motherfucker dropped
West coast gangsta music, East coast hip-hop
Now it's our time to shine and the tables is turned
Them motherfuckers aggravated 'cause we gettin' some burn
"There's no room for everybody, just a few niggas is swole" (why is that?)
Probably 'cause they favorite rappers ain't in control
But just let go of the past 'cause it's hurtin' your hands
And pass it over to the next generation of fans
And quit hatin' the South

Quit hatin' the South (baby)
We gettin' paper in the South (gettin money)

I'm blastin' off on you hoes like NASA
You double standards and hypocrisy, remind me of Massa
We ain't good enough to eat at ya table but when ya dick get hard
You wanna run up with the ?
I from the get, coke but I'm still clockin' figures
Bitch, hoe, cock suckin' nigga
And that goes for all you visitors too
If you don't like it down here, get the fuck on fool!
They say you can't rap and they questioning our intellect
Friendly ass niggas jumpin' bad on the internet
Ain't nobody typing that much, can't be a danger
Catch you in person, bitch I'll break yo' fingers!
It's some trash in the South but I promise you
From the East to the West, some of y'all garbage too
As long as the beat knock and the lyrics hot, son
I can give a rat's ass where a rapper is from
I remember N.W.A. and P-E
Had me feelin' like a rapper was the thing to be
You can't fuck with Willie D, U-G-K either
Disrespecting the code, ? motherfuckers neither

Quit hatin' the South (baby)
We gettin' paper in the South (gettin money)

To all the radio, T.V., and even the presses
Been hatin' on the Sizz-outh like we ain't ready
Y'all think we came in the place, say man we came in the state
Y'all shoulda listened to Andre, bitch we got somethin' to say
And all you washed up rappers, you ain't what it's about
I see y'all tryna rap like us and puttin' grills in ya mouth
Y'all buy the beat, buy the beat, like y'all bouncin' and twerkn'
But hoe we know what's goin' on and bitch that bullshit ain't workin'
I'm a O.G. Rock Balll, write my name up on the wall
Fuck yo' bitch and hit the switch and put my dick up in her jaw
(I'm Sweet) Jones, fucked a clone, legend on the microphone
Player's choice, silver Royce, keep yo' bitch's pussy moist
I'm bumped the school, that's how I do, sippin' drank, each teen night
In Benz, big blue lens, knock this bitch and fuck with her friend
Candy cart, squeeze 'em out, bought the ranch man fuck the house
And y'all still gotta buy y'all dope from us so what the fuck you bitch
Niggas talkin' 'bout?

All you ole sensitive ass niggas! nah I'm talkin' 'bout?
Y'all niggas on y'all period up there bitch!
Nah I'm talkin' 'bout? Y'all hide behind them e-mail addresses
Sending that bullshit through the air!
Bitch! Say my name bitch, I'ma come to ya house!
Fuck how you feel, country rap tunes nigga!
They put all y'all records on one side of the store
And put all the country rap music on the other side of the store
And see who sell out first, bitch ass nigga!
It's ya own fault ya shit ain't sellin'!
You reap what you sew!
Fuck you in ya pussy!
Keep talkin' that shit, them young gladiators go come get you too patna!
Already, U-G-K for life, fuck how you feel about it bitch!
Young Pimp
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Quit Hatin' The South Lyrics

UGK – Quit Hatin' The South Lyrics

Songwriters: BUTLER, CHAD L. / FREEMAN, BERNARD JAMES / LATTIMORE, BENNY W. / DENNIS, WILLIE
Quit Hatin' The South lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, EMI Music Publishing

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