Song parody of
Southern Takeover
by Pastor Troy
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Gun cocking, shots fired.
The sound of revenge, ha ha.
Woo, tell em what it is man (tell em what it is).
Welcome to the New World Order.
Atlanta, Georgia.
Houston, Texas, he already know.
The south is takin' over.
[Chorus: x2]
Just look over your shoulder (shoulder)
Let me see who just showed up (showed up)
It's the southern takeover (its over)
You betta' tell em I got drinks
That stand on top try and stop (pop pop pop)
It's the mister fo' fifth told 'em
Cookin' coke with baking soda
Dub roller, pro smoker
Wood gripper, pistol whipper.
Muck a nigga if he figure
Fuckin' with my figures.
Makes him richer, he should know.
Instead, it'll make him better than a slimy fuckin' with my money.
Get yo money stacked right outta Sunday school
On a bright and sunny Sunday.
This ain't funny.
I ain't jokin' bout my coke and package come up shorter.
Might kidnap yo wife and daughter.
Bury them down deep in Georgia.
No D.A.s a fuckin' lawyer prosecutin' witnesses.
We excutin', start the shootin, start the lukin',
Start the violence, start a riot.
Get this motherfucker crunker, crunk as you can get it.
Pass that dro, I'm a hit it.
Outta line, we gon' spit it,
spit it vivid, cause i live it.
You don't walk it, you just talk it.
Pistol totin', and a loadin'.
That's how smokin' got this dope
And i ain't hopin', steady slangin'
Right on yo trappa block.
Try your trap, set up shop.
Try and stop (pop pop pop).
[Chorus]
Hey hey, this ain't about an image.
This ain't about a gimmick.
Pussy's stand to the side.
Now the game got a menace.
I damn seen a city that I think is not the realest.
We bummin' on his ass.
He ain't finishin' his sentence.
I only got a minute.
I feelin' about a digit.
You lookin' at a nigga like I ain't about to get it.
I'm lookin' at the money like I ain't about to finish.
You need to mind your business.
If you ain't about your business.
I'm a H-town soldier.
I'm a come with the trunk up yeah I'm a gon' remind ya.
If you ain't gettin' it you shoulda told ya father.
Nigga chamillionaire never show no problems.
You don't want no problem (problem).
Get em g'ed shoulda let the fo' fo' remind 'em.
Ya you tip on the ride em.
I be ridin' fo' fo's on the door beside 'em.
6' 6" tall lookin like he a center.
Tear tattoo's lookin' like he a killa.
Skinny ass niggas don't fight with a nigga.
Pull out a billfold, put a price on a nigga.
I have this camp fo' put a knife in a nigga.
From the car to his pocket then right in your liver.
Was a big boy that put a slice in the middle.
Ya head fast think you hold a mike with the killa.
Don't mess with the south homie, thats a dream,
Hallucinate or imagining so.
Double X.L. with the gats I mean,
Keep somethin' ready to blow in the magazine.
And you know that southern cash is mean.
Franklins frown for me when I stash my cream.
Pull up in candy paint that match my green.
Killer, Pastor, and Koopa are the master machine.
[Chorus]
[Pastor Troy]
Y'all know me, it's P.T.
Well I un huh and all of that,
Black on black, with black tip.
I can't help but represent.
I'm not content, I want more.
Who the fuck you take me for?
Studio rappers not the fortay.
drop my top and bust my A.K.
No mo play, in G.A.
Yeah, that's a classic.
Ridin' in the classic.
Totin' me a classic
Send em to the casket.
Send em to the morgue.
Slap me a nigga cause I'm motherfuckin' bored.
Chamillionaire, I camouflage in my surrounding.
Get my desert E's and get to motherfuckin' poundin'.
Up and down the streets,
Throwin' heat, out the driver's seat,
Ridin' to the beat,
Tell them nigga just lay weak.
[Chorus: x2]
Gun cocking, shots fired.
The sound of revenge, ha ha.
Woo, tell em what it is man (tell em what it is).
Welcome to the New World Order.
Atlanta, Georgia.
Houston, Texas, he already know.
The south is takin' over.
[Chorus: x2]
Just look over your shoulder (shoulder)
Let me see who just showed up (showed up)
It's the southern takeover (its over)
You betta' tell em I got drinks
That stand on top try and stop (pop pop pop)
It's the mister fo' fifth told 'em
Cookin' coke with baking soda
Dub roller, pro smoker
Wood gripper, pistol whipper.
Muck a nigga if he figure
Fuckin' with my figures.
Makes him richer, he should know.
Instead, it'll make him better than a slimy fuckin' with my money.
Get yo money stacked right outta Sunday school
On a bright and sunny Sunday.
This ain't funny.
I ain't jokin' bout my coke and package come up shorter.
Might kidnap yo wife and daughter.
Bury them down deep in Georgia.
No D.A.s a fuckin' lawyer prosecutin' witnesses.
We excutin', start the shootin, start the lukin',
Start the violence, start a riot.
Get this motherfucker crunker, crunk as you can get it.
Pass that dro, I'm a hit it.
Outta line, we gon' spit it,
spit it vivid, cause i live it.
You don't walk it, you just talk it.
Pistol totin', and a loadin'.
That's how smokin' got this dope
And i ain't hopin', steady slangin'
Right on yo trappa block.
Try your trap, set up shop.
Try and stop (pop pop pop).
[Chorus]
Hey hey, this ain't about an image.
This ain't about a gimmick.
Pussy's stand to the side.
Now the game got a menace.
I damn seen a city that I think is not the realest.
We bummin' on his ass.
He ain't finishin' his sentence.
I only got a minute.
I feelin' about a digit.
You lookin' at a nigga like I ain't about to get it.
I'm lookin' at the money like I ain't about to finish.
You need to mind your business.
If you ain't about your business.
I'm a H-town soldier.
I'm a come with the trunk up yeah I'm a gon' remind ya.
If you ain't gettin' it you shoulda told ya father.
Nigga chamillionaire never show no problems.
You don't want no problem (problem).
Get em g'ed shoulda let the fo' fo' remind 'em.
Ya you tip on the ride em.
I be ridin' fo' fo's on the door beside 'em.
6' 6" tall lookin like he a center.
Tear tattoo's lookin' like he a killa.
Skinny ass niggas don't fight with a nigga.
Pull out a billfold, put a price on a nigga.
I have this camp fo' put a knife in a nigga.
From the car to his pocket then right in your liver.
Was a big boy that put a slice in the middle.
Ya head fast think you hold a mike with the killa.
Don't mess with the south homie, thats a dream,
Hallucinate or imagining so.
Double X.L. with the gats I mean,
Keep somethin' ready to blow in the magazine.
And you know that southern cash is mean.
Franklins frown for me when I stash my cream.
Pull up in candy paint that match my green.
Killer, Pastor, and Koopa are the master machine.
[Chorus]
[Pastor Troy]
Y'all know me, it's P.T.
Well I un huh and all of that,
Black on black, with black tip.
I can't help but represent.
I'm not content, I want more.
Who the fuck you take me for?
Studio rappers not the fortay.
drop my top and bust my A.K.
No mo play, in G.A.
Yeah, that's a classic.
Ridin' in the classic.
Totin' me a classic
Send em to the casket.
Send em to the morgue.
Slap me a nigga cause I'm motherfuckin' bored.
Chamillionaire, I camouflage in my surrounding.
Get my desert E's and get to motherfuckin' poundin'.
Up and down the streets,
Throwin' heat, out the driver's seat,
Ridin' to the beat,
Tell them nigga just lay weak.
[Chorus: x2]
