Lyrics:
could leave a nigga sans fam
7 Sins while I'm in the mix with 7even
Brethren breathing a pack towriting the next eleven
Yo cardinals sown, brittle bones,
SEVEN WORLDS
She bought a ticket to the Ferris wheel,
off the ground, and touch the sky and feel
the wind in her hair.
She has this dream playing
Don't know how we made it through the night (c'mon c'mon c'mon)
7 minutes to sunrise
Oh baby now, what are we gonna do? (Do it, do it..)
It was
hoops
But now I make hits every single day
With that nigga, the diggy Dr. Dre
So lay back in the cut, motherfucker 'fore you get shot
It's 1-8-7
hoops
But now I make hits every single day
With that nigga, the diggy Dr. Dre
So lay back in the cut, motherfucker 'fore you get shot
It's 1-8-7
bullshit
Turn up your stereo hops
Insert the rhyme clip
Roll your windows up
Make sure it7s air tight
E.Q. the track exact
So shit sounds right
I rhyme
I'm motherfucking chicken-shit
To the ones that's tryna play the E
By the time you get to seven, you'll be six feet deep
Number Eight: Make no
wanna mash that
Trapstar hoodie and a snapback
I don't even smoke, but I back straps
Push up your wig and it snap back
My whole team in black cah
and shows him what he's worth
Living by his word and doing all this work
Life is like a fucking movie man this shit is all bizerk
And it's happening for real
Niggas won't trap bout nothing
Niggas won't clap bout nothing
Niggas won't snap bout nothing
Niggas won't trap bout nothing
Niggas ain't talking bout
throat
Can't buck those thoughts
They holding me back
My mind is under attack
I go to war with a track
Think I might snap
But answers won't fall in
Been in the way going mile by mile
Feet is not feeling the land
Keep it up
Keep it up
Go again
Wheel it up
Wheel It up
Go again
Keep it up
Keep it up
Old straps and wheels
Real fat like they named Big Snap
My under grow like NASA bitch and plus
My glove box got that blah
I'm fresh as fuck I got
from my hot wheel's
Drive by Glock nines better aim to kill
Buss a U and hit them up one more time
a second chance, I know it makes no sense
But I wouldn't fuck it up this time, I think, I swear
Half-possessed, I'll take the wheel
And drive around
on the wheels
Forgi the rims, right after leavin' the lot
Say he got it I seen what he got
Icy young nigga they see that he hot
I just might slap a cutter
the track of the beat watch Bobby flip the metronome
High voltage, keep my seat in winsbro cultured
Kill enemies by mailin them the poison glue postage
a seven, I got a bundle
I got a worker, I got a runner
She got a Birkin, I got my gun in it in case you lurkin'
First, she didn't fuck with Cocaine, she
Hold up, flip it quick Allegheny, baby, smokin' by the crick
Trappin' by the river, get it off the cliff Hold up, flip it quick
Allegheny, baby,
stuffed with sparrows,
the imperial, terrarembrium, the spherical, I turn the steering wheel
and pull into a 7-Eleven, met up with Billy, Danny, Rob
Coros
(Ay yo, 7 Kruzs!) Este beat é malária
E eu no gajo sou Suarez dentro d'área
Tubarão a por terror na tua praia
Ventania a levantar a sua saia
you
Because you describe 7th Avenue
I've never been to the 6th
But I can see the cars that drive by
And the raindrops that fall
And mark the ground
You can reach for your service pistol
By the time you get it
I'm betting that this will be over and done with
Leave your badge and your gun
You
I'm motherfucking chicken-shit
To the ones that's tryna play the E
By the time you get to seven, you'll be six feet deep
Number Eight: Make no
.jpg/300px-Mitch_Ryder(ThKraft).jpg "Mitch Ryder & the Detroit Wheels")
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