Lyrics:
breathe on
Bleed on, exceed on!
Weak rappers with titles after twelve
Hit a bell that's what I'll feed on!
Microphone Don, walking flesh, talking bomb
as fuck)
Midnight chills when i'm by myself (Midnight chills)
Midnight chills when i'm with the bros (With the bros)
No matter where i'm at when its night, i
Tired of these rappers, tired of these jackers
I'm tired of these dances by these fuckin' backpackers
And I'm sick of all these hipsters, I'm sick
I ain't dropping stacks, I'm dropping knowledge
Unless it's for my nieces and nephews to go to college
And hit me on the phone, hit me up
Like
this album and find zero fucking flaws
And I kinda feel like Malcolm the way I picked you off
I think we gonna get this three-peat hit the last two with
niggas
Flow like dro, I pull then clip it or mix it with some moet then sip it
Then turn around and flip it, shit on your whole album wit a snippet
still gets views
No one ever records the stuff you do
No one could name a song that is by you
I drop a hit and make another one on the next day
I
I cant let em catch me lackin
Architect no rapper this is more than an album
I was born by the river
By the river
In a little tent
Oh and like
know, running in the Slick Rick
Bro, getting hit up by Big Daddy Kane. What the fuck, bro
Sorry I put it out like that, but it's facts, you know what I
fuckin' way
But here I am, workin' in the studio
And your album ain't out because you're movin' slow
By the time you make one I'll be on ten
Hit the studio
Rebel, renegade, must stay paid
Not by financial aid, but the break of hits
Causing me to take long trips
I'm the original, teacher of this type
Rebel, renegade, must stay paid
Not by financial aid, but a raid of hits
Causing me to take long trips
I'm the original teacher of this type of style
I see the crystals in the smoke
No na, baby girl don't you choke
Made an album my first year
By God's grace OTM we going clear
I ain't lazy
Do what I
Vol 1
É o começo de uma realidade
Do rap, sejam bem-vindos
Cuspo britas, papo estripas e dispenso mímicas
Só criticas porque
they rags up
Make them hit them switches up
They say album gang bang with some Nuts
Yo Dre yo homie turn this chronic Up (Hell Yeah)
I hit the switch no
well
We are some partying mothafuckas"
Tired of these rappers
Tired of these jackers
I'm tired of these dances
By these fucking backpackers
And I'm sick
will do it by whatever means necessary
Detroit red flow
East coast, west coast
Used to leave MoCo to hit Ledroit with Bo
I dated women with poppin'
always prepared
Got sons you don't know about, ones you don't know about
Buns by the tons, mad guns and we going out
What!!
[swizz beatz]
It ain't over,
the fence)
This one is a hit and I'm aiming for the fence
Don’t put me in that game
I’m gon’ turn into a massacre
I’m down by a lot
I flip the script quick
wife-beaters, white t-shirts, white-
I'm the greatest
So you sold 10 million albums, eh? (What?)
Only problem is, you put out 10 million albums, eh? (Haha)
the world grooving, grooving
Uh uh uh, alright, uh huh
Now if you want to step
You gotta play it by the rules
You gotta do what I do
When I do, what I
nigga, Boogs
He got killed by a best friend He got killed by a best friend
So I need to know Baby, would you ride around for me
Down to die for me? Hit
Umm, uh what the fuck, what time is it?
I swear I parked my car, shit
Aye, light hit my face sun brought the heat
Open my eyes, see my car
this whole city on lock
Cause my album's hot
And I know that y'all been waitin' a while
So I'mma hit you with this Full
Metal Jackit like Private Pyle,
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