[Verse 1: Sleepy Brown]

Dickie shorts, Lincoln's clean

Leanin', checking out the scene

Gangsta boys, Bigga's lit

Ridin' out, talkin' sh*t

N*gga, where you wanna go?

You know the club don't close 'til four

Let's party 'til we can't no more

Watch out, here come the folk— "Damn"

Oh, Lord

[Verse 2: André 3000]

As the plot thickens, it gives me the dickens, reminiscent of Charles

A lil' discotheque nestled in the ghettos of N*ggaville, USA

Via Atlanta, Georgia

A lil' spot where young men and young women go to experience they first little taste of the night life

Me? Well, I've never been there

Well, perhaps, once, but I was so engulfed in the Ol' E', I never made it to the door

You speak of hardcore

While the DJ sweatin' out all the problems and troubles of the day

While this fine, bow-legged girl, fine as all outdoors, lulls lukewarm lullabies in your left ear

Competing with "Set It Off" in the right

But it all blends perfectly, if you let the liquor tell it

"Hey, hey—look, baby, they playin' our song!"

And the crowd goes wild, as if Holyfield has just won the fight

But in actuality, it's only about 3 a.m., and three n*ggas just done got hauled off in the ambulance, sliced up

Two n*ggas done started busting—"Wham! Wham!"

And one n*gga done took his shirt off, talking 'bout, "Now, who else wanna f*ck with Hollywood Court?"

It's just my interpretation of the situation

[Verse 3: Big Boi]

Yes! When I first met my

SpottieOttie
Dopaliscious Angel...

I can remember that damn thing like yesterday

The way she moved reminded me of a brown stallion horse with skates on, you know?

Smooth, like a hot comb on nappy-ass hair

I walked up on her and was almost paralyzed

Her neck was smelling sweeter than a plate of yams with extra syrup

Eyes beaming like four karats apiece, just blindin' a n*gga

Felt like I chiefed a whole O of that Presidential

My heart was beating so damn fast

Never knowing this moment would bring another life into this world

Funny how sh*t come together sometimes, you dig?

One moment, you frequent the booty clubs, and the next four years, you and somebody's daughter raisin' y'all own young'n

Now, that's a beautiful thang

That's if you're on top of your game and man enough to handle real-life situations, that is

Can't gamble feeding a baby on that dope money

Might not always be sufficient

But the United Parcel Service and the people at the post office didn't call you back because you had cloudy piss

So now, you back in the trap

Just that: trapped!

Go'n' and marinate on that for a minute