Lyrics:
license
Baby boy always been righteous, don't ever get
Jealous not even the slightest
When you the coach, the pilot, sarge, lieutenant
Captain and highness
parachute and right sight
going to drop in on the jungle
and grease some stone age tribe
The 'sarge jokes about taking out the last link
to his troubled past
But this my call by the false Prophet, all Prophet
Harlem hustle, I can't at all knock it
But you hard when you go in the Lords pocket
What you
popping
Sarge hold your head, freaky seeky hold your head
The O.B.B.O., 151st Amsterdam holla at your boy
A.K. Jackie Rob, all my niggas in Harlem
Get
Draft Dodger Rag
Phil Ochs
Written by Phil Ochs
Oh, I'm just a typical American boy from a typical American town
I believe in God and Senator
Natureboy over everything
Don't run up on a nigga like me
Last boy tried it he ended up flying
Now his boys posting rip
Can't find Faygo in the city
And you don't ask
Who needs compromise
When there's no fear
That it won't last
And all the good boys they don't cut it
And all the nice boys with Christian
Preachers at the church knowing, we still get by
(From this point on it only gets rougher)
Teachers at the school knowing
(From this point on it only gets
You're a white collar boy and you gave into the law
Give in to the pressure the cops gonna getcha
You were a thieving dog at work until they caught
'em (big boy)
I leave 'em strapped and laced and come up out 'em (big boy)
The last person that touched 'em, I been shot 'em (big boy)
Now if you
'em (big boy)
I leave 'em strapped and laced and come up out 'em (big boy)
The last person that touched 'em, I been shot 'em (big boy)
Now if you
You're a white collar boy and you gave into the law
Give in to the pressure the cops gonna getcha
You were a thieving dog at work until they caught
am the boy, no decoy
And I will straight up destroy any boy or man
And I prefer money then bitches, or just reefer
We are Young Money, bitch, and I
am the boy, no decoy
And I will straight up destroy any boy or man
And I prefer money then bitches, or just reefer
We are Young Money, bitch, and I
that the fakes wouldn't last
You were jockin' that bullshit, now you look like an ass
Get gassed in your garage of sickness
As I bring a little swing
that
The fakes wouldn't last
You were jockin' that bullshit
Now you look like an ass
Get gassed in a garage of sickness
As I bring a little swing
Into
The pets, my nigga, no
It's right between the ears, above
The neck, my nigga, whoa
It's very quiet, when you
Hear the weapons, nigga, shh
They verify you by
the last of a dying breed like 'Pac said
I got bread, got something that'll cock it
My ambitions as a rider by Slip-n-Slide, uh
All them killers down south
Aphilliates nigga
Pay attention bitch
Shots out marshallville
Dblock boys whats happin
War town whats happin
Shots out the whole valley
I got you
I
with us
When we was down 10 to our last meal
Everybody tried to laugh at us
It's Cythadon and Boboy
Mo fucker turn the anthem up
This the Puna Boy Anthem
with us
When we was down 10 to our last meal
Everybody tried to laugh at us
It's Cythadon and Boboy
Mo fucker turn the anthem up
This the Puna Boy Anthem
with us
When we was down 10 to our last meal
Everybody tried to laugh at us
It's Cythadon and Boboy
Mo fucker turn the anthem up
This the Puna Boy Anthem
This is the Puna Boy Anthem
Yessah Blessah
What's up boys
Hou brah hope you ready for this one
Uh huh, Puna boys
And this the remix baby
All my
Dreams of living large
Get mansions and them cars
Get money by the boat load
Bring that weed in by the bar
Weed in by the barge
Have them
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