Lyrics:
should've checked it yourself (come on)
Life is too short to get caught up in some dumb shit
Wake up one day, 40 years old on some bumb shit
Time flew by, you
handle that
Yeah, this bitch gon' get bit with the fangs (fangs)
She say I got too many chains (I got too many chains)
Once you cross me, no need
Desert life is precious
A place of all extremes
The sun's too hot to handle
It's brighter than it seems
Nights are cold and lonely
The days hot
Would you rightfully pay
Or sacrifice any sense of counterpart
And not try to sluggishly walk by
Between you and your friend that you value
Can you say
Yeah
Bitch
Yah digg
Coming straight off the head
Watch me ride it like some peds
Blew the brains out instead
Now the coup special Ed
Better watch
ask me what happened
Niggas left 'em too loose I imagine
EBM said "it's tragic, you lor Niggas broke wit' no fashion"
Niggas knew that this rapping my
to impress it's an extravaganza
I act like I ain't got no manners
When the pot gets too hot
It gets too hard to handle
And life is a beach like i'm wearing
a calculated gamble, the image that has become
The black women through them tel-lie-villains, has some of these little girls too hot to handle
Got some of your
Plotting on licks hitting stains
The mob life runs through my veins
Its too late for me to change
These streets got me deranged
Strapped up
run a little bit hot, so you better get out
I’m just, trying to let you know what you’re taking on by getting under me
And I know, it’s a lot but I own
I CC'ed every girl that
I'd see-see 'round town
And hate to see y'all frown but
I'd rather see her smilin'
Wetness all around me, true
But I'm no
you waist line
We no too chaty, chaty, so bring down you panty
We handle ruff style, we no too romantic
That's way the gial them, want we
We powerful
That was just by accident
It look like i practiced it
Handle is the nastiest
Don't play no games like kaepernick
Anklebully spazin it
I don't know when
I be smooth, I'm manic but I'm no fool
Y'all rappin I'm talkin cool, and Columbine is not new
In Compton they shoot up schools too, ridin by to see
by the fact
Nigga's telling too much
It's a shame how these nigga's
Always jelling in such
You can't handle the truth
The words that we speak
It's time
tested I feel a way (arrgh)
Demons can't stay round here, too hot for the Lord evacuate
Argh!. They get moved up or get moved to In-tuned with the Spirit,
it
I'm the force when I flip it
Find out where it is
Then I'mma go get it
Full of myself
I'm too hot handle
Bitches got they hand out
But don't hold
made
I can't handle all the shame
Always swore I would never be like him
Abandonment it runs deep
Should be the eighth deadly sin
But maybe it's just
soprano)
Ike willis (vocals)
Bobby martin (keyboards, saxophone, vocals)
Tommy mars (keyboards)
Arthur barrow (keyboards, bass, micro bass, rhythm guitar)
Ed
[Ransom]
Where the fuck's all these niggas saying Ran' isn't hot
I damage the block
I scramble like Randall with rocks
I'm that nigga in
as they let me rub it
And in a week's span, my homey Freak-Man
Sinks into so much pussy we should call him Quik-sand
(Last hoe was done by the true
a bitch that let
Drake lyrics run a relationship
What a waste and shit
Still trying to make it hit
Industry won't listen to hood
Say I'm hot as bacon bit's
loose
The hot girls finished school All the city hoes too
That bitch gon' put on what she want Her pussy reeking like a skunk
The baddest hoes'll get you
You work too hard
To be too much
Project your dreams
Of fear and lust
Upon us girls
And gods we trust
You breathe in life
And expel dust
A man with
.jpg/300px-Hot_Hot_Heat_(1659559709).jpg "Hot Hot Heat")
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