Lyrics:
Which is really on the wall
I got a color TV, so I can see
The Knicks play basketball, hear me talkin' 'bout
Checkbook, credit cards, mo' money
Than
can’t live in books on the shelves
This one here's for all my world tourers
City, state, country, urban explorers
Now we get around to all the four
I make it look easy
But trust me, it's not easy
It's just a true crook
Know how to move around in theory
Where the skyline is pretty
And the detail
waxed by body she let me crash
She knew her loving was def, she didn't waste time to ask
[Hook]
Up the next morning, feeling good as hell
Sleeping
And I'm just sitting here figuring it out
While you're in the puddle on floor by the liquor store
Trickling down
You got a hold on me
And it's plain
In this castle of glass
I'm all alone
I have four walls up
To keep the emotions inside
There's nowhere else for me to hide
All the times that I tried
Tell me something
Why you wanna run around saying dumb shit
Why you always showing up late to functions
Sitting in the back with a bag of Funyuns
Me
Tell me something
Why you wanna run around saying dumb shit
Why you always showing up late to functions
Sitting in the back with a bag of Funyuns
Me
the murder game
And I'm runnin', got the law wan' come in
Freeze me, to teach me, try breach me, probably saw me on the TV
Now, wan' make me a repeat
I
insists on a 10-36
This here's what you give 'im:
"Four, good buddy, I made me a study
An' I figger it's the dark a' the moon, son
It's half-past spring
composure kuz a n***a on that drank too
I just realized won’t no day go by that you gone catch me sober
Everyday I wake and bake before a play I blow some
pour a four in my sprite
My lil youngin in the trap
By the door with the mac
Other nigga cross the street with a snipe
Bitch keep asking why my jeans so
the villian, keep niggaz feelin
My trigger finger enhancin peelin
your dome piece with the chrome piece fat
I'll fuck around, black, catch a Mac to ya back
you've already decided then deliver the blow
The way you walk around me. The way you talk around me.
You act so speechless. You've got nothing to say.
killin d haters a Issa murder scene
Im finna be on channel 4... im killin shit I think i made em hate me
Hatin like a disease n deez bitches sicker den
to bitches feedin' me grapes
Peep my mind state, Big Poppa flow is lethal
That weed wanna make my ass wanna kill four people
Fuck the game, gimme the chain
the 4-4
Too high, can't come down
Losing my head, spinning round and round
Too high, can't come down
Losing my head, spinning round and round
Pray for me
[Chorus: x 4]
It's goin' be 187 after 187
It's goin' be blukah after blukah out my MAC-11
[Juvenile]
They got a lot of.. niggas tryin' ta.. get me
[Chorus: x 4]
It's goin' be 187 after 187
It's goin' be blukah after blukah out my MAC-11
[Juvenile]
They got a lot of.. niggas tryin' ta.. get me
above all you jive suckers
Listen, that's word to my mother
You throw a shot at me
I'm throwing a shot back
Your's is on a joint
Mine's whistling by your
I'm here for the fall
Shoulder check the money, like damn, this shit tall
Fuck city walk, how I break the whole wall
I'm livin' like Bundy, these hands
I’m done
But my problems pull me back
I’m a real nigga it ain’t hard to see that
We riding around four deep we got three straps niggas be lying out here
the king on set
Hey hey we got them G's on deck
Hey and hit the deck when the king on set
Slap a slug on me mac 11 in the bubble coat
I'm chillin' with
Hey hey we got them G'z on deck
Hey and hit the deck when the king on set
(T.I.)
Slap a slug on me mac 11 in the bubble coat
I'm chillin with the homie
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