Ballin' On A Budget Lyrics & Chords By Nappy Roots

Ballin' On A Budget (by:Nappy roots)
(Nigga)

(Pimpin')
I'm just a, big bang baller on a budget
Dank weed, smokin like "fuck it"
City slicker, country nigga, reppin straight from Kentucky
Horseshoes and rabbit paws flossin, chicken closs for the lucky
4 leaf clovers, Range Rovers, so they know the tailpipe's rusted

(Pimpin')
Country cookin, dog fightin, big-body ridin
Chillin like a mug in Western Kentuck', showin love
Summertime a funner time, smoke and gunner time
Sippin Sprite and somethin dark, every fuckin time

(Pimpin')
Uhh, okay watch how the po' folk ball
Stomp through to mall in my overalls, the black Girbaud
No pager, no cellphone, no access at all
Just a pack of Dutch Masters and a pint of alcohol

(Pimpin')
My hooptie, with a down crew like Boots said
You don't +Perm+, +Fuck a+ fade
let my hair swang back and forth like a germ
Ill nigga with sick shit, pull out this and stick it in this thick chick
Baby mama drama, child support court and ain't worth the riskits

(Chorus)
Whattcha know about them backwood country folk?
Whattcha know about the 'Lac chrome hundred spoke?
Jimmy Crack Corn; no fade, no comb
Whattcha know about ballin on a budget pro?
I'm just ballin on a budget jigga (jigga)
I'm just ballin on a budget jigga (jigga)
I'm just ballin on a budget jigga (jigga)
It's the N the A the P-P-Y

(Pimpin')
Pull up, dear horns on the hood of my truck
Kentucky Mud on my shoes and my socks
Hungry Jack, feather tryna stuff some food in my gut
Country cat in the cowboy hat
I'm front to back put the house on that

(Pimpin')
candy yam's,chittlins,greens and smoke country ham,
chicken wangs,cornbread granny in the kitchen throwin down,
eat good tryinna smoke somethin',run up on a pound,
roll somethin,go ta vagas try ta stuff em' with the ounce,

(Pimpin')
hummin, mama cookin that mean it's sunday monin',
half a pint of bootleg jin will keep me goin',
fat knot,pool shot,bad daylight,cigars and happy bags,
man we stay high

(Pimpin')
Aww man, we go back, like sweet pickle book clubs
Nigga that was good love, summertime blazzin in a foot tub
Damn that shit hurt, and my jams in that shirt
Atari 26, one stick, never worked

(Chorus)

(Pimpin')
Comin up in the woods, all I did was run barefoot
Ne'er could comb my hair good
My hairline grew like ten pound vines
'Tween my rib and my underware
It's still a thin brown line, shit

(Pimpin')
Chores did, and ma work out on the clothin line
Cool as shit, country boys out on the grind
River views, picknic, big ticks covered the place
Folks visit, and make it apparent to come back again

(Pimpin')
Look here, see I smoke like a fire and a drink like a fish
That's it, ecstasy just ain't on my list
No comb, no brush, no fade, no pick
No shit, no hair and you get no dick

(Pimpin')
Now we love them gals that love themselves, them southern bells
Them Clydesdale Kentucky gals, with muddy tails
We cut them gals, new veils, no wedding bells
Trick on cheap hotels, KY gels and nothin else

(Chorus)