Lyrics:
Then the bugging like roaches
Country nigga born in the Chocolate City
Raised by 2 country folk from the down the south
With a mama that loves me dearly
in the vinyl that
Ithaca get 'em runnin'
They wishin' my ass would fumble so the
Game could get a turn around
But I run this shit just like the
Colts
ever heard in your life.
I'm talking about the kind of song where not only is the character in the song dead by the end of the song, but he's been
colts like you were Carson Wentz
Keep it at bay
We gravitate toward unconsciousness
But these days I tend to gravitate to where the comma is
It's quite
Returning weary from the barren planes
My throat went dry after a long days ride
Finally as the light of Dagda waned
I reached a small ford by
working these days swear to god
I already been a shooting star so now I want my placement
Want my name up in them clouds while they all up on vacation
And I
enough
Drive-by's, blood-spattered on my shoe, I'm not hood enough
But why cry?
I Waka Flocka Flame, hit your block up
Thug life, it's in my veins, go
Life's Made Of Moments
by Murphy's Ford
Grandma and Grandpa walking into church
They haven't missed a Sunday since their first bible verse They
the days of the Colt 45's and gang bangers
Cocaine slangers who sliced doors no time to cook up
Them niggas like raw
It's all about the dollar
It was back in '32 when times were hard
He had a Colt .45 and a deck of cards
Stagger Lee
He wore rat-drawn shoes and an old Stetson hat
Had a '28
soul
And wouldn't change by the change, or the game, or the fame
When he came in the game, he made his own lane
Now all I need is y'all to pronounce
soul
And wouldn't change by the change, or the game, or the fame
When he came in the game, he made his own lane
Now all I need is y'all to pronounce
the stairs towards
The clock in my dreams angel wings on me
Outta time I split my seams
My Soul is resurrected new life reckless
Watch you scream
You kept
on anybody who ever tried to front on me
With so much personality, what do you want from me?
I could be by myself and enjoy the company
My life, this year, my
The old gunfighter stood on the
Porch and stared into sun
And relived all the old days back when
He was living by the gun
When deadly games of pride
ain't stoppin me dawg
Only time you left ya hood is on Monopoly boards
You grimey as birds shittin on the top of ya fords
You will, die by the gun
and a pipe
Or a bike and a spinner, a weapon and some transport, for my little nigga
Posted Destiny up on her b-day, and got blocked by bare silly hoes
But
stay sane when your life is a string of ditches
I wanna pretend, I wanna flex with the change
Vanity Fair, back in pain, Bisou bisou, back again
But I'm
I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream.
I can tell by the mark he left, you were in his dream.
Ah child of countless trees, ah
you, bitch
I'ma show you, bitch, you know what's up
Big Ford ride around in it, probably feel like a Tonka truck
Four-oh, fifty rounds in it, C4, I'm
and kiss my wife
One more day in this crazy life
Take a second to stop and smell the daisies
Everything else is gravy
Got the classics playin' on my
I'm past that time
Instead I stepped to analyse
Thinking 'bout my life and bye
But fuck that shit I pick the six
And flip them in the silver bliss
don't know
We don't know
We don't know
We don't know
Feel so good on my worst days
Built tough like Ford in the first place
No longer avoid, it's not
It was back in '32 when times were hard
He had a Colt .45 and a deck of cards
Stagger Lee
He wore rat-drawn shoes and an Stetson hat
Had a '28 Ford
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