I'm just a cold beer drinker, check out the callus on pop-top finger Got a cooler in the back with a 12 pack ready to roll I'm a killer karaoke country singer, top-water rattle-trap spinner bait slinger king of the grill and a short putt sinker Whiskey

Stepping out to Angellucci's for my coffee beans Checking out the movies and the magazines Waitress she watches me crossing from the Barocco Bar I'm getting a pickup for my steel guitar I saw you walking out Shaftesbury Avenue Excuse me for talking I

Real niggas do real things On the road to riches and diamond rings Hanging with the honies is the song I sing Busting my toast off the roof drinking ninety proof til spring Real niggas do real things, check We started out making, small time bacon Two

(Hey, hey) don't give a damn what people say (Hey, hey) save it for another day (Hey, hey) you gonna talk the talk then walk this way (Hey, hey) or save it for another day Check, check mic check one, two It's about that time This the year we take shit

Find out what she's puttin' down I won't even call I won't even write I'm checking on my baby So many nights and days Well, I've been out of town Well, I caught me a plane Flew back that same night Checking on my baby

I know perfect timing feels like I'm too late Check me out And I know I'm still great in spite of my mistakes You know it's authentic, every rhyme I say My only regret is I made niggas wait See, ain't too many like us, we like vintage Bape And I don't

South-side motherfuckers? Laced Up! Fuck check-out time, we don't wake up Damn these EST boy's done came up Dirty ass Chucks and a bad bitch lace up Where my east-side motherfuckers? Laced Up! Where my west-side motherfuckers? Laced Up! Where my

Weekends here, good God almighty, Yeah, yeah, yeah... But we just punched out and its paycheck Friday, Yeah the big boss man, he likes to crack that whip I ain't nothing but a number on his time card slip, I give him forty hours and a piece of my soul,

Shake that ass for a couple digits (for a couple digits) She checkin' bags like she 'bout to trip it ('bout to trip it) Showin' out got er'body attention (er'body) Told her told her, give her what you wannna, want I don't got no patience I ain't no D.O.C

Ex-friends till the end Better off as lovers Best friends And not the other way around Racing through the city Windows down In the back of Yellow-checkered cars I wrote a goodbye note