Awnaw - All Hooks up Version

Yeah, haha Nappy Roots
 Awnaw!
 Awnaw! Hell naw! Man
 Y'all done up and done it
 Awnaw! Hell naw! Boy
 Y'all done up and done it
 Awnaw! Hell naw! Boy
 Y'all done up and done it
 Ah, y'all done up and done it
 Man, y'all done up and done it
 My first song was like 48 bars with no hook
 You hear me flippin through my pages out my favorite notebook
 The microphone was in the closet (what?) No headphones, we lost it
 Niggas scared to get some water, roaches hangin' over the faucets
 No AC, Tez'll break a sweat just tryin' to make beats
 E-Dubz was being a hustler (hey man!)
 All play flirtin' all his customers, and flat broke
 Nappy smokin' blacks out on the back po'ch
 I'm thinkin' I got everything a country boy could ask for
 Now what we do to get here? (Say that boy!)
 Lay it down and bring it to ya raw (say that boy!)
 Hey now, we hurt some, suffered for more, takes what we work for
 Hated for for the cussin', but the hatred it made us cuss more
 Held on, but it was hard, stepped up, took charge
 Ran through what we scared up, but what was we afraid for?
 Look what we made of, heart that what made us
 Being here is alright, but must believe we won't fall!
 Them country boys on the rise
 With them big fat wheels on the side
 Peep them vertical grills on the ride
 And aw-awww-awww-awww
 Them country boys
 With them big fat wheels
 Peep the vertical grills
 And awww!
 My yegga, we hogwild, bet that from that roota to that toota-file
 Hell naw, them country boys ain't headed south for six miles
 Kentucky mud, them kinfolk, twankies with them hundred-spokes
 Skullied on that front po'ch, plus you know they got 'dro
 '79 coupe DeVille, vertical Caddy grill
 Interstate 65 headin' down to Cashville
 Glass filled, to the tippy-top, back-seat Benz
 Spent my last cent on the rent, left with pocket lints
 A damn shame, gotta grind anything and everything
 Jimmy Crack Corn, cross the county line with Mary Jane
 A long time, a gravel road, to cash and fame and sold my soul
 To Hell and back, and back and forth, with same jeans and nappy 'fro
 I might hop off the Harley, smoke pot like Bob Marley
 Not parties with charties, wylin' like they swallowin Bacardi
 Them butter-skin, Prophit gotta like them
 Understand you 'bout to lose ya life fuckin' with them
 Them country boys on the rise
 With them big fat wheels on the side
 Peep the vertical grills on the ride
 And aw-awww-awww-awww
 Them country boys
 With them big fat wheels
 Peep the vertical grills
 And awww!
 Them country boys
 With them big fat wheels
 Peep the vertical grills
 And awww!
 Them country boys
 With them big fat wheels
 Peep the vertical grills
 And awww!
 Them country boys on the ride
 With them big fat wheels on the side
 Peep the vertical grills on the ride
 And aw-awww-awww-awww
 Them country boys
 With them big fat wheels
 Peep the vertical grills
 And awww!