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Lyrics Home :: A :: Afroman :: Mississippi

Lyrics for Mississippi by Afroman



(Palmdale was like the peak of my life, but Palmdale over with, homeboy. Iím fittiní to go home cuz.)
Please take me back home, (You know what Iím sayiní?) to Mississippi.
(I got my Greyhound ticket right here, man. Iím fittiní to go back and kick it with my family, cuz.)
Please take me back home, (take a couple pounds of this weed) to Mississippi.
(You shmell me, homeboy. Yeah, take them fools back to í82, cuz.)
Before South Central Palmdale flossiní, I stayed in a place called Palmerís Crossing.
Hattiesburg, Mississippi, smoking marijuana like a Woodstock hippy.
All my homies in Laurel, beg borrow, buy my rap tape tomorrow. (Bucccoc!)
Tell DJ Pumpkin ďKeep it crunckiní Clyde.Ē Request my tape when you go inside
So I can take Jane and girl to Waynesboro, fuck their little homegirl, make her toes curl, rock their world, leave with their Auntie Sheryl.
She sucks me sucks me, fucks me fucks me, cries every time I leave Biloxi
But I hops in the Coup, Ďcause I gots to go scoop another ho from Tupelo
Hit it once, hit it twice, then I hit it again.
Hit it in Meridian, make that bitch rub her clit again, pinch the nipples on her tit again, suck my dick until she spit again. BUCCCOC!
Please take me back home, (Hell yeah!) to Mississippi.
Crooked letter, crooked letter, hump-back, hump-back, Afromanís the bomb, bump that!
Please take me back home, (Hell yeah!) to Mississippi.
From the delta to the coast, Iím doiní the most, grab your 40oz. Letís toast.

I sold rock cocaine down in Ellisville. Baseheads hit the pipe, they can tell itís real.
Kept my dope stashed with this hootchie, way down yonder in East Bouche.
Cops be sweatiní outa town, dog. Sweatiní my car with a hound dog.
Separate me from my bitch and shit, tryiní to get my bitch to fuckiní snitch and shit.
Officer Roscoe P. Coltrane running warrant checks on the Afroman
But I canít be no hip hop star cuffed in the back of some police car.
Did you find the gun? NO!
Did you find the dope? NO!
Open up the back door. ďWell, son, youíre free to go.Ē
A-F-R-O marijuana cargo, _________________
Címon, Letís all get drunk tonight. I hope I donít fight with a punk tonight.
Get nervous, as I swerve this Cadillac through Purvis.
Hope I donít crash when I hit Petal, get my ass kicked in the white ghetto.
Prejudice police wonít let me go, so Iíma drive slow, hide my Ďfro.
I was dumb, now Iím dumber, yíall, last summer, yíall,
I fucked all the little girls down in Sumrall.
Grabbed my guitar and started pickiní a tune for Nikki and June down in Picayune, baby!
Just like a shovel I be digginí all the pretty young women in Wiggins.
On the boat, Gulfport, I got my dick down some girlís throat. (BUCCCCOC!)
I canít help it, Iím a Crip, baby. I think you need to wipe your lip, baby.
Hula Hula Hula, the whole house ruler. Whatís up with all the bitches down in Pascagoula?
Small towns, small cities, but they still got big olí asses plus titties.
Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Itís the hungry hustler, Afroman
Flying through the air in my underwear, Geri curl activator in my hair.
Iím in control like Janet, when I hit Jackson. Always getting plenty panty action.
McClaine. Even McComb. Tell the whole world Mississippiís your home.
Yazoo, Columbia and Natchez. I got the weed brother, who got the matches? (I do.)
Who got the funky DJ that scratches? (I do.) Depend on me like my name was patches.
First it was a black thing, just the big Willies. Now I roll Phillies with all the Hillbillies.
Never ever thought Iíd see the Klu Klux Klan buying front row seats for the Afroman
Confederate flags tobacco in their mouth. Itís a beautiful thing jumpiní off in the South.
Afroman, Iím a part of it. Hattiesburg hip hop, Iím the start of it.
Iím the latest. Iím the greatest, and all you haters, Iíll mash you like potatoes.
Iíll make your girlfriend holler and scream, then cook me some cornbread and collard greens.
BUCCCOC!

Please take me back home, (Hell, yeah!) to Mississippi.
Crooked letter, crooked letter, hump-back, hump-back, Afromanís the bomb, bump that!
Please take me back home, (Hell yeah!) to Mississippi.
From the delta to the coast, Iím doiní the most, grab your 40oz. Letís toast.

!982, í83, í84 Erin, Broste, Carlos, and Tonto.
Tryiní to break dance in my B-Boy stance, Micheal Jackson glove, parachute pants.
Calvin Gary, Garnett Jones. G-dog, cuz, I donít believe weíre grown.
But hey, G-dog, you and meíll see dog. Whatever happens, cuz, itís you and me dog.
Or should I say loc, (loc) cause you my folk (folk) so letís take a toke (toke) till we croak (croak).
Iím a locster locster, honey spokester, drinking everyday like Iím supposed to.
Bottle after bottle, dog, in my lip-a, flowing on the mic like the Mississippi river.

Please take me back home, (Hell, yeah!) to Mississippi.
Crooked letter, crooked letter, hump-back, hump-back, Afromanís the bomb, bump that!
Please take me back home, (Get on down!) to Mississippi.
From the coast to the delta, Afro, we felt ya. Boy youíre so cold the sun canít melt ya.

Please take me back home, (Yeee-ha!) to Mississippi.
Crooked letter, crooked letter, hump-back, hump-back, Afromanís the bomb, bump that!
Please take me back home, (Get on down!) to Mississippi.
From the coast to the delta, Afro, we felt ya. Boy youíre so cold the sun canít melt ya.
Please take me back home, (We outta here.) to Mississippi.


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