Lyrics:
our own station
See rappers don't know, I snatch a beat
I hear a beat, I catch a beat
The Rhythm X roll up, my style gets critical
Brain connects,
[Sonny Cheeba]
If you Gorilla Pimp drag it on the floor
Grab her by the hair and drag her on the floor
Tilt that cock and drag it on the floor
Take them
bond
By the way whatever happened to, word is bond?
The brother ak lied to me during ramadan
I'm taking no prisoners, takin no shorts
Still drink
My game's jumpin', we all had our days of barkin'
You could tell niggas styles by they ways of parkin'
Why dispute it? Dough got us so polluted
My fleet goals, by da creep cold
We blaze, y'all won't see those, you just feel 'em
We raise the states in this game, like helium
The new
to platinum cars, my click is that large
To get they dick licked and back massaged by rich chicks
who rock Versace bras in the drop, watchin the stars
Yo,
the box
They dealt it to the Hudson by the Stapleton docks
Poppy hit me with that shit one time (no doubt)
and let these niggas know
Hook:
GP forever shine
the muscle?
While we kick the style that busts your blood vessels
With the rhythm
The ninety-six stylism
Pick up a pill and feel em kill em with your
I'll wait for you
Mama says she's getting tired
Of waiting for you to come back into style
I know it's been a while
And still I sit here by myself
five digits
Takin shorts from no midgets
My style is top notch, y'all niggas can't fuck with the status
I'm climbin up the ladders, droppin shit
I got up early and the sun was by my side
I thought you was my friend but all you did was lie
And now I carry this until the day I die
I keep
Rev. ain't right, his church ain't right
Deacon is a pimp, tell by his eyes
Mrs. Parks said, "Brother Starks, meet you at the numbers spot
Heard you got
are always in style
[Chorus]
But the blues are alive and well
I'm living proof that heartache still sells
As long as there's whiskey
A song by Keith
know)
But we paint it to be good
This is big city talk that we spreadin' worldwide
Coming from a humble nigga coming out a poor hood, ghost
Styles
nuthin'
You ain't sayin' nuthin'
I be spendin' Euros by the pound, I'm talkin' London
If it ain't about some millions boy you ain't sayin' nuthin'
You
rest is on my born day
Bust it, sometimes I sit back and just reflect
Watch the world go by and my thought connect
I think about the time past
When your daddy plays guitar,
You dance without a smile.
Kid you may not have great rhythm,
But you sure got style.
Just four years old and still it
me upset
Five-oh makes me wanna flip, Larry Davis style
Got a nigga depressed, while he's awaitin trial
It's OK though, cause from grey skies comes
me you need your plan your long heavity
Before you die broke like Sammy Davis junior
The solar, followed by the looter, followed by the solar
know I need to be loved by you
You know I need to be hugged by you
And I can't wait to be touched by you
'Cause I need to be, 'cause I need to be
One Creeper roman street sweeper
Don't get gash by the hour rudeboy
I get gash by the metre wilehouse senior
Lemons will lean ya e3 teacher
LON preacher
Well, East coast girls are hip
I really dig those styles they wear
And the Southern girls with the way they talk
They knock me out when I'm down
Original rude boy style leci teraz do każdej z głów
Grubson jarecki brzuch witamy na rudeboy tour
You never know when the rudeboy come for you
wi haffi feed di people and by these means wi ago free di people of mental restraints like greed and evil and then mek dem fly high like Evil Knievel
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