Lyrics:
comin'
you can't stop me
you can't stop me
I'm comin'
I'm comin'
Batton down the hatches and latch the doors
you wanna to try to match my wits with yours?
For shizzle dizzle, I'm on a track with the Big Snoop Dizzle
Let the Henny trickle down the beat wit' a ghetto tempo
I done blazed the instrumental,
would have found this little speakeasy
Hidden behind a little red door
At the end of a half-lit alley
But I was drawn to it quite inexplicably
So I went
Tried to take her own life by downing pills with boose
Heaven or hell couldn't claim her, she had unfinished business
Three down, one left, she'll get
think so
Not even mulitiplied by cinco, you blink bro
Now catch your career going down the sink yo
My hits rock you dicks nots so run and get cops
I
Roc-A-Fella, Ruff Ryders, niggas scared of that
Got a new motto this year, "Don't fuck with my ones"
Knock on your door, three in the mornin'
"It's just us
with the efforts of time you’d find that I’m doing damn fine!
*banging*
(LLOYD)
Yo Rico what are you doing here, man?
The sun went down like 3 hours
of the Ying Yang Twins soldiers
Nigga I tried, I told you
We put it down coming right back, 'cause it's like that, on a phat track
with a fat sack
D-Roc
some fucking luck
Getting better every new track
Finally getting to the second lap
Break down the door
Like here’s fucking Johnny
All my girls cheating
The burden on my back is working on my abs
My core became a door, DeMar to these raps
Then rose in off the strength of my tracks
I'm trying to put my jersey
Take mask off, you mad soft
Plug me in, boot the nation, CNN
Look like woman friend go by door hidden
Goddess Ghost (Ghost)
Don't call me Casper
Tip
At the door
Are you ready?
Are you ready?
Come now
Lay your burdens down
He's got them all
Are you ready?
Are you ready or not?
He's still faithful
spike it
Voicing opinions but holding laryngitis
But I don’t hear ‘em, I’m a winner by law
Track em down like the subway
When they sub par
Sub-zero
a four-door
I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo (yeah)
Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload (yo, yeah, yo)
And the Pope can't save your soul,
a four-door
I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo (yeah)
Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload (yo, yeah, yo)
And the Pope can't save your soul,
of thinking
That was the worst of the crimes
By the time they killed Ms. Bonnie
She had already died 3 times
A full moon was flyin’
The wind was high
rock on)
We keep going
Nigga breath can tell by how you rap you don't believe
Ain't hungry no mo' so off me you feed
I hustle at a speed between
rock on)
We keep going
Nigga breath can tell by how you rap you don't believe
Ain't hungry no mo' so off me you feed
I hustle at a speed between
Uh, GOOD Music, this our year
Backing drums by DJ Premier
Now let me count it down
Who the fuck up in here
Common, Don, Old G, battle rap, oh
That
and walk right out the door
Ask God for forgiveness for them times before
And now I'm rocking Christian I'm talking Dior
Don't want no hellcat I want me
out of his door
Without making a sound
The tracks on the ground
Made by one person's shoes
They came and they suffered
Enduring abuse
8 @ 3:01 PC3
shack
On the banks of the river by the railroad track
We kept chickens in a pen in the back
And everybody said we was po' folks
My daddy was a farmer
popped
Now your mom and pops
Tears won't stop
Found you by the rocks
Blood down to your socks
At the door of hell give it a little knock
Now y'all know i'm
on the right track
Got to tighten up the slack
Oh, America!
How dare it comes down to tyranny
The irony
Let me shed some light on things
Prophecy and history
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