Lyrics:
money in my shoebox
I'm the man of the house and my shows sold out
Like the brudda from the Boondocks
Beats 1 in my boombox
Still steal meat from
money in my shoebox
I'm the man of the house and my shows sold out
Like the brudda from the Boondocks
Beats 1 in my boombox
Still steal meat from
Yeah yolet me, let me, let me
Let me tell you why - why
This niggawhy we dedicated this song
To this kind of nigga cuz number one
Duke is drivin' in
[Intro/Chorus x2]
Back by popular demand
Doin what?
Goin each and every place with a mic in my hand
Who are you?
Tha emcee letting you know what I
have worn, write your name in the sand before you burn
You play the game and lose it all again
So take another chance on me, on me yeah
Sands gone
talking back, bih
Back! Back!
Back! Back!
Anyone can eat this back hand!
Back back, I got a MAC in my bag!
They stole off your back and you paid for it
done by Chucky
Did the show, hit the door
Bagged your bitch (easily)
And she ain't never leavin' me
I'm Chuck Inglish, that's my name
Point
done by Chucky
Did the show, hit the door
Bagged your bitch (easily)
And she ain't never leavin' me
I'm Chuck Inglish, that's my name
Point
a father
If I have a daughter, guess what I'ma call her?
I'ma name her Bonnie
I read about your uncle Ronnie too, I'm sorry
I had a friend kill himself
a father
If I have a daughter, guess what I'ma call her?
I'ma name her Bonnie
I read about your uncle Ronnie too, I'm sorry
I had a friend kill himself
And who will say that I stayed much too long?
Clothes of sand have covered your face,
Given you meaning but taken my place,
So make your way on down
I just rolled a backwood of some s**t ion know the name to
Tryna keep composure kuz a n***a on that drank too
I just realized won’t no day go by that
so bad
Dear Mr. I'm Too Good To Call Or Write My Fans
This will be the last package I ever send your ass
It's been six months and still no word, I
used to be,
Stole the light from your stars,
So we lie in the dark,
Even in the other room,
I'm miles from you,
And I can hardly breathe,
Funny how
As I write this letter my dear child
Know that it came from my heart, my experience;
scrapes and falls fumbling to the light,
smiles and tears,
shook crews runnin'
Like they supposed to they come around
But they never come close to
I can see it inside your face
You're in the wrong place
Cowards
frozen
Everything went static
Death ol' mate oh
Stealer of soulmates
If I had a death note
I'd write in your name
And if you could rot
My luck was your
$1, 100 in your pocket what made
You move to Los Angeles?
Frank Ocean: I had been
Putting together these
Demos that I was going to properly
Record in
won't laugh at your looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need
(talk to 'em)
Uh, another body finna fall
I move the product to the zombies in the hall
Aim good, I could write my name in cursive with the Tommy in
lead to hell in a bit
Sometimes even your heart can tell you to quit
Irrelevant
I still do it for the passion not the bread and the whip
But still got
wit my hand on Mac 10 handle
Schemin' on you niggaz
By myself in my four corner room watchin' Hard Boiled
I feel like I'm crazy, my brain on drugs
My
that walk upon this land
Devising plans to lace up the Triborough as the sand
In the hour glass elapses
cvoiding taxes
This Mac-10 collapses
'm always by the table and still ambitious
I'm an ocean with no sand, I ain't one of you beaches
You have no capacity but still have mad opinions?
Since you
Discuss these i still write your name in the sand by mac wiseman Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In