Lyrics:
some rocks on your head, you got floored by your bro
Bitch, that's the reason I never crash out by the hoe
Fuck that, talk gang, I don't always have hoes
Hey
Said it's really nice to meet you
Apex
G
O
D
At least 10k's for a feature
And you know
Ugly coming up
So better cop one
While it's frugal
And not
I'm punchin in with the brass knuckles
8x
Ya voice muffled as ya legs buckle
Punchin in
Tear the club up
3x
Im Punchin in with the knucks
Yeah
Get
slow
When ten of them leave you 'lone
Black cabs, hot air
They think you never learned to share
Need attention from posts
Always doing the most, yeah
one ends
Said that you wanna get home by 10
But you not might not make it home at all
I got the vibe it’s leng
I don’t wanna vibe with these hoes no
caught a chill
When the lights of a big semi topped the hill Lord, I sure was glad to hear them air brakes come on
And I climbed in that cab, where I
A brother walked by and offered his help
Ordinarily I woulda did the shit myself
But he, changed it quick
So I passed him a ten
Here I go on this journey
nigga
Got keys to my city, they don't get it
I'm a dog like "grr" from the X, my nigga, look
I pulled up in Louis V sandals, my hat is by Eric
by the fours
so in other words, nah man, skip the explanation
see that what the rewind's for, so be patient
'cause this is the direction that my pen
Poisonous stin', which thumps up and act chumps
Rae's a heavy generator, but yo, guess who's the black Trump?
Dough be flowin' by the hours, Wu, we got
Poisonous sting, which thumps up and act chumps
Rae's a heavy generator, but, yo, guess who's the black Trump?
Dough be flowin' by the hours, Wu, we got
cupcakes and puts on her jumper
Explains that she'll be late to a worrying mother,
She meets me in Piccadilly.
A begging folk singer stands tall by
(2x)
Yo I want to see your war face
Soldier where's your war face?
Camouflaged inmates collapse war gates
[9th Prince]
Yo, yo yo yo
Check the Killarmy
ready to gin
She will take you to place that you've never been
If you know what you doing with that ole super 10
Don't care if it's a day cab or one
fucking starving
Cooking up dope in the RV
Cook it with Harvey
Just bought a halfie
Flip it by half-three
I see the numbers enlarging
All for my darling
All
names and make fun of you
(Ho) But me the Lyte
I'm into speakin the truth
Like a watchtower, hour by the hour
Lyte is rhymin, perfect timin
Milk keeps
by the hour
Lyte is rhymin, perfect timin
Milk keeps the beat (I keep the beat)
With the tap of his feet (With the tap of my feet)
When he count it
quite a sight
Drunk in the lunar light
As one by one the
Cabs drove away
Walking like a thief
In the New Year's Eve
I shut the blinds and put the boys
Slick talk to the bad guys
I catch a vibe by myself
Always get high by myself
Hop in that coupe do 100 on the belt
Looking back at all the money i
cabs, got caught with the ratchet in the stash
Lawyer want CASH, my ba'y bro blast burners at cats who gell
They burnt a range with a mollet of COCKTAIL
of the past)
Hail the new puritan!
Righteous maelstrom
Cook one!
And all hardcore fiends will die by me
And all decadent sins will reap discipline
New
catch that
damn manna fine like a tax grab
2 2 duffles in a hatchback
i put 10 in the gas bag - saving a 10 for
nah man cap that
snapback i digress
The Lost Art Of Conversation
Lyrics & Music by Chris Selman
We’ll meet at the coffee shop, it’s on the far side of town
I’ll meet you at 10 o’clock
Silver check it
Silver
When a house i’m in silver teslet
A demanding job with vagabond a Farakhan
Fast as Amazon DotCom change by a corner
In Avalon
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