Artist: Killer Mike 
Album:  R.A.P. Music
Song:   Southern Fried
Typed by: kirenamloh@msn.com

[Killer Mike]
Welcome to this country-fied, bonafide
and my flow is sweet as a potato pie
Never been a sour apple, I'm a Now N' Later guy
I'ma tell her somethin sweet and she gon' lick me later guy
Hello to my hater guys 
How you doin, sirs? I know you got mean words 
But keep them to yo'self, unless those murders will occur
Cause I'm from Killa Kill Adamsville 
Right next door Bowen Homes and Dixie Hills 
Allen Temple Wildwood and Plainsville
These motherfuckers murder in plain sight
Everyday, broad daylight, they ain't right
Shit's loko out in Zone 4 
Since the 80s' it's been that way doe
My nigga uncle died shootin back at the po-po
He went out, but he ain't go slow though
Even hit the cop back with the fo'-fo' doe
Got buried in a Rolex, Jordans and a Polo
Nigga died pretty as a pimp in a photo
Whoa WHOA~! Yee'n hear fat boi
He ain't say that boi, don't e'en try to act boi
That fat black motherfucker got a way with the words
I'll tell you he can rap, boi
Respect my words like a rabbi
I'm a Porterhouse, you a motherfuckin ribeye
Hate on me to your girlfriend, she gon' look you dead in the eye
and tell ya, "So, muh'fucker, he still fly!"

[Chorus]
Ain't I fresh? Ain't I clean?
Ain't I;m ridin thru the city in the meanest machine?
Ain't I, ain't I 100? Playa fa' sho
Ain't I slick 'bout pimp game and just might mack on yo' hoe, ain't I?
Ain't I fresh? Ain't I clean?
Ain't I'm ridin thru the city in the meanest machine?
Ain't I, ain't I 100? Playa fa' sho
Ain't I slick 'bout pimp game and just might mack on yo' hoe, ain't I?

[Killer Mike]
So fresh, so clean
Rollin down the streets so slow, so sweet 
like a cup of, codeine, smo-kin on that, I-rene 
wit a sweet country girl named Irene, I lean feel-in irie 
I be, strapped, to the motherfuckin T, so please don't try me
My Chevrolet lay butt naked on the asphalt flo' flashin her high beams
And I'm still in the company of Irene and we been joined by Maxine
We maxin, relaxin, chillin double stackin
And me bein the Westside player that I be
I'm tryna see what's hap'nin, and what's hap'nin?
Mé-na-na-nage in my garage
These two young ladies is the reason I +A.D.I.D.A.S+
That's All Day I Dream About that Sex scene
You textin, hopin that they call you
I just BBQ and call 'em up and say, "Hey, fall thru"
And you know it's shrimp and lobster tails 
when they enter the room with lots of players 
My potnas young black millionaires
And they all about some mon-ay~! 
Yeah young'n, it's a double entendre 
Yee ain't got to wonder, when you ask LaRhonda 
what she been doin hangin out with Shawnna
She tell you, "Nuttin, hon-ey~!"

[Chorus]

[Killer Mike]
Moët, Rolex, big Benz, no flex
Wedding ring on finger, I married a Trina
Pretty as a singer, fine as a stripper
When we in the strip club, strippers try to tip her
I don't want no dance, hoe! Get up off my zipper
You ain't tryna rip me if you ain't tryna rip her
We like Bun and Pimp, bitch! See we is a duo
This that Ball and G shit, we don't need no new hoe
See I got a suave mouth which purchases my +Suave House+
This that 2 Live Crew shit, I +Rap-A-Lot+ 'bout new shit
This that country rap tunes, Southern fried funky shit
I am the antithesis or opposite of monkey shit
And that's some education for y'all thinkin we unlearned
Cause our uncles played that Gucci Crew and walked around with perms
and we buy them '95 Impalas, paint them bitches urr-ange
We get +Gang Starrs+ like Preem and Guru cause respect was +Hard to Earn+

[Chorus]