Lyrics:
the .4's by me
Diamonds up the piece it's all shiny
Still without a backstage pass the whores find me
And they know who the man be
Ice grill on the watch,
means "victory helper"
Whole name means "protector"
Shorten it by two letters, without the I-R at the end
The reincarnated Gil Scott livin' in
Shit, tired of gettin' shot at
Tired of gettin' chased by the police and arrested
Niggas need a spot where we can kick it
A spot where we belong,
Shit, tired of gettin' shot at
Tired of gettin' chased by the police and arrested
Niggas need a spot where we can kick it
A spot where we belong,
Sarajevo
But I make sure their albums make a peso
Dashie's getting slammed by snow
6 inches on the western portion, it'll blow
If I were a Monstercat artist,
firearms and one pound of marajuana
Apprehended by four US marshalls by the state of Washington
[C-Bo]
They thought it was over but it just started
And some
you crashing the whip
Laughin at hoes, taking fakerss to amateur flicks
While the Ill Bill albums kidnapping your kids
[Chorus � Ill Bill
Ain’t going back, ain’t going back
Taught by the G’s from the C’s how to make it stack
And taught by the man how to give it back
Lost my dad but that man
with the feds
I'm back at the bridge
You niggas is sipping on 40's
I'm topping the keg you know how we play
Like G's coming up off the
Two in their ass
Just know you gonna be great like you always been destined
Keep me by your side you'll never need no protection
A little girl is waking up this
And to me, we have a culture that, uh
Is surpassed by, by, by, by no other civilization, but we don't know anything about it
So again, I think I've
Ha ha ha ha hah, I'm laughing with my mobb
While you remained confused by me
The Prodigy
You put your verse I put my verse in
We see who really
no drive-by's
We walked over
COB bandana tied to the end of the AR
Iller than they are, rhymes so sick
Give 'em the day off
This is the chaos, Nicolas
Hummers
Stackin' them chips and let them
Tricks get nothing from us
I'm wit' Kurupt, in LA, you know
My main homie readin' books by thugs
It's like Monster
(Fuck all you hoes! Get a grip, motherfucker!)
Yeah, this album is dedicated
To all the teachers that told me I'd never amount to nothin'
To all
Yes, Lord, it's all good, you know I hustle
In the tanktop with no muscle, all in the hood
And roll dice by the elevator, and post up
And wait there,
I can take you all around the world
Planes, trains, automobiles
Bentley or a Range, chromed-out wheels
First class ticket, G-4, you that deal
For
Yeah, this album is dedicated
To all the teachers that told me I'd never amount to nothin'
To all the people that lived above the buildings that I
Yeah, this album is dedicated
To all the teachers that told me I'd never amount to nothin'
To all the people that lived above the buildings that I
don't know what direction it's gonna go in
Or at what speed it's gonna go in
This project was like, all over the place
If you listen to Cruisin' By
the whole album
Keep talkin' that shit, you know I'm with the drama
Uh, uh, I'm fuckin' up, I fuckin' know I'm the best
I come from the G, 14 niggas wanna
heart surrounded by walls
Got the blueprints
Got you open like nudists
I like my kitties with claws
Never snooze and don't pause
I got 4 seasonal sauce
be, real petty, let’s figure this out already
She just was so smooth
She just kinda had a Santana groove
Eyes straight, with her lips closed
By speaking
had a Santana groove
Eyes straight, with her lips closed
By speaking none at all, she said the most
Bad lady, proud baby, she wasn't overrated
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