| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 2:53 | 
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lets do that shit
Yeah! Killer keeps it honest Cause reality is perception with a weak stomach Bubbling uneasy like the bowels of hell (Boo!) Enough to make a black ghost turn pale Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! (Verse One) K-I-L-L This is the name that came to alter the game Not like these rappers who spit it the same Separate lames from they chain My mind don't slack I'm totally focused on beating up tracks Monsterous music to beat in your 'Lac 1000 watt amp with woofers in back Lean to da left if you burning a sac Baby got back and its in Baby Phat Pardon me dog 4 chasing the cat I'm hittin all kittens meowing like that I like the front but I'm loving the back I like to bite and I'm hoping she scratch Escalade dipping I'm holding the lane Mama's a scholar she blowing my brain Ain't the the life? Snapping & Trappin and Rappin & Frappin all night Lil mama's a plumber she handling pipe Ill wit a pill she handle it right Like Iverson, the smallest thing on the team But the livest one Cocked loaded bust like a gun Y'all better run, one, one! (hook by big boi) Thump, thump, thump, thump (yeah) All in your trunk (yeah) Grinding and hustling and getting at mine Swerving and token and grippin on pine Bump, bump, bump, bump All in your trunk Woofers and tweeters and speakers and geekers Crawl in your bunk (Verse Two) How we gon' stop (whooa) How we gone quit (shitttt!) Brand new shoes and socks on the Chevy I came through swerving like this (im Good wit the game, gutter fo' show Ducking you lames and obstacles go get that ass in a hospital Wrapped in cast from head to toe This boy he real! Racing those candy Sevilles through Dixie Hills My car do wheelies they drive on three wheels First round pick like Michael Vick Quarterback status throw passes at chicks Santana Moss When catching the ball Get it? Like Moss she catches the ball Perfectly tuned my engine don't stall And I'm equipped with nitros y'all Ready to rip, burn, roar! Ready to tear through your city and tour Took The Whole World and murdered that shit! Caught the beat running and dipped with that bitch! Later for now I'm hustling hits Flipping my words like bricks, trick! (Hook) (Ending) New, new! That new new! New new for you you! New new for you you! That new new! That new new! New new for you you! New new for you you! |
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| 2. |
| 4:38 |
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(T.I. talking)
Aye, aye Bun who did this man? So me and you got, T.I.P., Killer Mike, Lil Jon, and Bun B So that's the King of the South.. the Underground King.. the King of Crunk.. and King Kong all on the same song Heheh.. aye Jon, they ain't ready We taking it on back to the trap my nigga! (Hook) I got them 'bows on my 'lac - swervin on these niggaz! I got the hump up in the back - bumpin in you speakers! I got the weed in my sack - smokin on that killa! In the hood where I'm at - trappin with my niggaz! I got the NEW NEW... (Killa K-K-K-Killa Killa...) NEW NEW... (K-K-K-Killa Killa..) NEW NEW... (K-K-K-Killa Killa..) NEW NEW... (Niggaz don't wanna touch the Killa..) (T.I.) Man we been tounge wrastlin for too long Aye whatchu wanna do homes? I'm finna pull this heat and have you fetal like a new-born T.I.P., Mike, and Bun B - scared whatchu better be We was just the kings, now we heads of a legacy Leaders of the new south, fake niggaz move out He talkin loud and proud, but he scared when the tool out I'm the nigga they be askin what we gon' do bout? Mike told me "fuck them niggaz, bring that New New out" Paint the Chevy, buy the Caddie, bring the 22's out Put the city back on top, just seperate the fools now We had lots of misrepresentation but hey we cool now Can't keep playin both sides of the fence, you got to choose now The realest of the real or the fakest of the fake If ya got it on ya chest, shawty say it to my face When ya hold ya nuts in hatred, ya only rushin til ya waste And we gon' show them people what it really is in the A (Hook) (Killer Mike) Straight from Atlanta, the hog hand-ler Grown folk trap, scramb-ler Need me?, Need to get ten G's to my manager My mack-10 made for action, body-baggin and toe taggin I'll drag 'em threw the river like a bad yellow nigga I'm mashin with pops fashion, bustin first no questions askin You gon' off that water woody thinkin you can hold me I'm, King Kong on every track, no cap-sule can hold me I'll THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP, when I BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP! It's woofers, tweeters, speakers, geekers, ALL IN YO' TRUNK! My dad ain't raise no fag, my mom ain't had no punk We don't hesitate or negotiate, we pop Chevy trunks From the home of Coca-Cola, I'm not referrin to soda I'ma grind til I shine, or die going for mine Sig Sauer by my side, swervin and blowin pine Don't be a victim to a Killer, be a father to ya son This Re-Akshon, Killa Kill, T.I.P., and Bun (Hook) (Bun B) Bitch I'm coming live from the trunk and I thrive on the funk Cuz I'd rather die like a man than survive like a punk I'm no coward, I'm 'dro-powered, you gettin Twin-Towered devoured - it's a shit-storm and you bout to get showered From Broward county to Harris, Pasadena to Paris I embarrass niggaz on chrome wheels as big as the ferris Cuz there is, now way now how - I stay low-key, low-brow In that black on black on black in the 'lac cuz I'm so wild I get, drunk off that, I'll be high off this I might pop one of those, it don't matter my nigga - I don't miss They put me hot on list, where players are posted But them players we posted up on corners, when they say and get roasted And the prayer get toasted, cuz I keep the flame on The face for the game on - leave a stain on anything I puts my name on Disrespect and the tech'll peck a player like Woody Cuz cain't nuttin keep a trill nigga down, ask Khujo Goodie (Hook) (Killer Mike talking) All I gotta say is sucker emcees better run The debate is now, who's the greatest emcee? T.I.P., Killer Mike, or Bun? We are not doing this for fun - this is a bloodsport Emcees are dying, mothers are crying and wack-ass niggaz will go out trying It is officially a new day, I am officially the new mouth AND THESE ARE THE EMCEES OF THE NEW SOUTH!! |
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| 3. |
| 2:51 |
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lets do that shit
Yeah! Killer keeps it honest Cause reality is perception with a weak stomach Bubbling uneasy like the bowels of hell (Boo!) Enough to make a black ghost turn pale Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! (Verse One) K-I-L-L This is the name that came to alter the game Not like these rappers who spit it the same Separate lames from they chain My mind don't slack I'm totally focused on beating up tracks Monsterous music to beat in your 'Lac 1000 watt amp with woofers in back Lean to da left if you burning a sac Baby got back and its in Baby Phat Pardon me dog 4 chasing the cat I'm hittin all kittens meowing like that I like the front but I'm loving the back I like to bite and I'm hoping she scratch Escalade dipping I'm holding the lane Mama's a scholar she blowing my brain Ain't the the life? Snapping & Trappin and Rappin & Frappin all night Lil mama's a plumber she handling pipe Ill wit a pill she handle it right Like Iverson, the smallest thing on the team But the livest one Cocked loaded bust like a gun Y'all better run, one, one! (hook by big boi) Thump, thump, thump, thump (yeah) All in your trunk (yeah) Grinding and hustling and getting at mine Swerving and token and grippin on pine Bump, bump, bump, bump All in your trunk Woofers and tweeters and speakers and geekers Crawl in your bunk (Verse Two) How we gon' stop (whooa) How we gone quit (shitttt!) Brand new shoes and socks on the Chevy I came through swerving like this (im Good wit the game, gutter fo' show Ducking you lames and obstacles go get that ass in a hospital Wrapped in cast from head to toe This boy he real! Racing those candy Sevilles through Dixie Hills My car do wheelies they drive on three wheels First round pick like Michael Vick Quarterback status throw passes at chicks Santana Moss When catching the ball Get it? Like Moss she catches the ball Perfectly tuned my engine don't stall And I'm equipped with nitros y'all Ready to rip, burn, roar! Ready to tear through your city and tour Took The Whole World and murdered that shit! Caught the beat running and dipped with that bitch! Later for now I'm hustling hits Flipping my words like bricks, trick! (Hook) (Ending) New, new! That new new! New new for you you! New new for you you! That new new! That new new! New new for you you! New new for you you! |
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| 4. |
| 4:37 |
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(T.I. talking)
Aye, aye Bun who did this man? So me and you got, T.I.P., Killer Mike, Lil Jon, and Bun B So that's the King of the South.. the Underground King.. the King of Crunk.. and King Kong all on the same song Heheh.. aye Jon, they ain't ready We taking it on back to the trap my nigga! (Hook) I got them 'bows on my 'lac - swervin on these niggaz! I got the hump up in the back - bumpin in you speakers! I got the weed in my sack - smokin on that killa! In the hood where I'm at - trappin with my niggaz! I got the NEW NEW... (Killa K-K-K-Killa Killa...) NEW NEW... (K-K-K-Killa Killa..) NEW NEW... (K-K-K-Killa Killa..) NEW NEW... (Niggaz don't wanna touch the Killa..) (T.I.) Man we been tounge wrastlin for too long Aye whatchu wanna do homes? I'm finna pull this heat and have you fetal like a new-born T.I.P., Mike, and Bun B - scared whatchu better be We was just the kings, now we heads of a legacy Leaders of the new south, fake niggaz move out He talkin loud and proud, but he scared when the tool out I'm the nigga they be askin what we gon' do bout? Mike told me "fuck them niggaz, bring that New New out" Paint the Chevy, buy the Caddie, bring the 22's out Put the city back on top, just seperate the fools now We had lots of misrepresentation but hey we cool now Can't keep playin both sides of the fence, you got to choose now The realest of the real or the fakest of the fake If ya got it on ya chest, shawty say it to my face When ya hold ya nuts in hatred, ya only rushin til ya waste And we gon' show them people what it really is in the A (Hook) (Killer Mike) Straight from Atlanta, the hog hand-ler Grown folk trap, scramb-ler Need me?, Need to get ten G's to my manager My mack-10 made for action, body-baggin and toe taggin I'll drag 'em threw the river like a bad yellow nigga I'm mashin with pops fashion, bustin first no questions askin You gon' off that water woody thinkin you can hold me I'm, King Kong on every track, no cap-sule can hold me I'll THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP, when I BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP! It's woofers, tweeters, speakers, geekers, ALL IN YO' TRUNK! My dad ain't raise no fag, my mom ain't had no punk We don't hesitate or negotiate, we pop Chevy trunks From the home of Coca-Cola, I'm not referrin to soda I'ma grind til I shine, or die going for mine Sig Sauer by my side, swervin and blowin pine Don't be a victim to a Killer, be a father to ya son This Re-Akshon, Killa Kill, T.I.P., and Bun (Hook) (Bun B) Bitch I'm coming live from the trunk and I thrive on the funk Cuz I'd rather die like a man than survive like a punk I'm no coward, I'm 'dro-powered, you gettin Twin-Towered devoured - it's a shit-storm and you bout to get showered From Broward county to Harris, Pasadena to Paris I embarrass niggaz on chrome wheels as big as the ferris Cuz there is, now way now how - I stay low-key, low-brow In that black on black on black in the 'lac cuz I'm so wild I get, drunk off that, I'll be high off this I might pop one of those, it don't matter my nigga - I don't miss They put me hot on list, where players are posted But them players we posted up on corners, when they say and get roasted And the prayer get toasted, cuz I keep the flame on The face for the game on - leave a stain on anything I puts my name on Disrespect and the tech'll peck a player like Woody Cuz cain't nuttin keep a trill nigga down, ask Khujo Goodie (Hook) (Killer Mike talking) All I gotta say is sucker emcees better run The debate is now, who's the greatest emcee? T.I.P., Killer Mike, or Bun? We are not doing this for fun - this is a bloodsport Emcees are dying, mothers are crying and wack-ass niggaz will go out trying It is officially a new day, I am officially the new mouth AND THESE ARE THE EMCEES OF THE NEW SOUTH!! |
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| 5. |
| 4:35 |
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(T.I. talking)
Aye, aye Bun who did this man? So me and you got, T.I.P., Killer Mike, Lil Jon, and Bun B So that's the King of the South.. the Underground King.. the King of Crunk.. and King Kong all on the same song Heheh.. aye Jon, they ain't ready We taking it on back to the trap my nigga! (Hook) I got them 'bows on my 'lac - swervin on these niggaz! I got the hump up in the back - bumpin in you speakers! I got the weed in my sack - smokin on that killa! In the hood where I'm at - trappin with my niggaz! I got the NEW NEW... (Killa K-K-K-Killa Killa...) NEW NEW... (K-K-K-Killa Killa..) NEW NEW... (K-K-K-Killa Killa..) NEW NEW... (Niggaz don't wanna touch the Killa..) (T.I.) Man we been tounge wrastlin for too long Aye whatchu wanna do homes? I'm finna pull this heat and have you fetal like a new-born T.I.P., Mike, and Bun B - scared whatchu better be We was just the kings, now we heads of a legacy Leaders of the new south, fake niggaz move out He talkin loud and proud, but he scared when the tool out I'm the nigga they be askin what we gon' do bout? Mike told me "fuck them niggaz, bring that New New out" Paint the Chevy, buy the Caddie, bring the 22's out Put the city back on top, just seperate the fools now We had lots of misrepresentation but hey we cool now Can't keep playin both sides of the fence, you got to choose now The realest of the real or the fakest of the fake If ya got it on ya chest, shawty say it to my face When ya hold ya nuts in hatred, ya only rushin til ya waste And we gon' show them people what it really is in the A (Hook) (Killer Mike) Straight from Atlanta, the hog hand-ler Grown folk trap, scramb-ler Need me?, Need to get ten G's to my manager My mack-10 made for action, body-baggin and toe taggin I'll drag 'em threw the river like a bad yellow nigga I'm mashin with pops fashion, bustin first no questions askin You gon' off that water woody thinkin you can hold me I'm, King Kong on every track, no cap-sule can hold me I'll THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP, when I BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP! It's woofers, tweeters, speakers, geekers, ALL IN YO' TRUNK! My dad ain't raise no fag, my mom ain't had no punk We don't hesitate or negotiate, we pop Chevy trunks From the home of Coca-Cola, I'm not referrin to soda I'ma grind til I shine, or die going for mine Sig Sauer by my side, swervin and blowin pine Don't be a victim to a Killer, be a father to ya son This Re-Akshon, Killa Kill, T.I.P., and Bun (Hook) (Bun B) Bitch I'm coming live from the trunk and I thrive on the funk Cuz I'd rather die like a man than survive like a punk I'm no coward, I'm 'dro-powered, you gettin Twin-Towered devoured - it's a shit-storm and you bout to get showered From Broward county to Harris, Pasadena to Paris I embarrass niggaz on chrome wheels as big as the ferris Cuz there is, now way now how - I stay low-key, low-brow In that black on black on black in the 'lac cuz I'm so wild I get, drunk off that, I'll be high off this I might pop one of those, it don't matter my nigga - I don't miss They put me hot on list, where players are posted But them players we posted up on corners, when they say and get roasted And the prayer get toasted, cuz I keep the flame on The face for the game on - leave a stain on anything I puts my name on Disrespect and the tech'll peck a player like Woody Cuz cain't nuttin keep a trill nigga down, ask Khujo Goodie (Hook) (Killer Mike talking) All I gotta say is sucker emcees better run The debate is now, who's the greatest emcee? T.I.P., Killer Mike, or Bun? We are not doing this for fun - this is a bloodsport Emcees are dying, mothers are crying and wack-ass niggaz will go out trying It is officially a new day, I am officially the new mouth AND THESE ARE THE EMCEES OF THE NEW SOUTH!! |
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