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Three waitresses all wearing
Black diamond earrings
Talking about zombies
And Singapore slings
No trouble in their faces
Not one anxious voice
None
tree in our living room
Fills the room with pine perfume
And colored lights dancing on the walls
While Nat King Cole sings "Deck The Halls"

Don't
(feat. Keyshia Cole)

[Intro: Ghostface Killah (Keyshia Cole)]
Damn, this is for all my women that's been going through the struggle
On welfare,
song come on, he ask
"mama, did you fuck J. Cole?"
Whoa

Getting to the promised land
You don't want problems, I promise, man
I take you to the promise
[Chorus]

[Keyshia Cole]
See, Mary J. I want you to understand you paved the way (for me)
I'm givin' homage (to you)
J'ai fait tout, j'ai fait tout
Ce que j'ai pu
J'ai fait tout, j'ai fait tout
Ce que j'ai pu
I have seen some trouble
Been around the say
Rode
me to Drake
Could have been J Cole if I met J-Hov

(Who dat? ASAP) But I'm fly like I never left
You's a lie, like fly without the letter F
If hip
little shots, we catching some cases
Lot of niggas hate to love me or they love to hate me
Labeled as reckless and crazy by my record label
Doctors say
over piranha, death over dishonor
They killin niggas for J's, that's death over designer
Hey Cole heatin' up like that left-over lasagna
Remember when I
I woke up on Fox, found myself starring on Cops
Got chased by squad cars and cameras for two blocks
I hate the man, yeah, I ran
To HBO and stole
in trouble
Did a deal with the Devil but now I'm pleading with him
Like give me my soul

My nigga
I ain't ever letting you go again
I ain't ever
dishonor
They killin' niggas for J's, that's death over designer
Hey Cole heatin' up like that left-over lasagna
Remember when I used to be stressed over
Drake, J Coles, and Big Seans
Time for the world to pay homage
Bow to the rap Gods or them K's vomit
Fuck you know about Dipset you little dipshit
If you
rodney king
We tore up the city nigga, purge
Or just stand there like j. cole and shoot at cops
In the same spot till the case closed, purge

We are dying,
drop your axe, it's Jazz police!

Jesus taken serious by the many
Jesus taken joyous by a few
Jazz police are paid by J. Paul Getty
Jazzers paid by
then take it away.
My name is Simpson, Bartholemew J.
That's Bart, with an art, and a capital be	,
Then Simp, plus S-O-N, that's me!

Introductions
[Chorus 1 Sizzla] [Ja Ad'Lib]
They can't keep a good man down (yeah)
All these people smile, but they won't me to frown
Gettin' by when I shot 'em
day, call Vegas and bet
By the way, if you a winner, I'm the one you should be with Hit J
Tell them niggas to bet against
Grand Hustle homie, I'm a make
don't get fed up
My people rise, my people fight
My people do alright
My people walk with pride and
We're marchin' side by side and
My people laugh,
[Chorus 1 Sizzla] [Ja Ad'Lib]
They can't keep a good man down (yeah)
All these people smile, but they won't me to frown
Gettin' by when I shot 'em
a dog, call me a blood hound
Throwin' blood in the air, leave blood on the ground

Niggas'll trade they soul to be Drake or J. Cole
Live and die for this
5, no less than 4 on a slow day, call Vegas and bet
By the way, if you a winner, I'm the one you should be with Hit J
Tell them n***** to bet against
a dog, call me a blood hound
Throwin' blood in the air, leave blood on the ground

Niggas'll trade they soul to be Drake or J. Cole
Live and die for this
I LEFT MY GAL IN THE MOUNTAINS
(Carson J. Robison)
« © '59 MCA Music »

I left my gal in the mountains I left her standing in the rain
I went down
Lyrics by Jimmy Buffett
Music by Buffett, Kunkel, Guth, P. Mayer, J. Mayer
I'm a cultural infidel, painting in the dark
I'm a cultural infidel,