Lyrics:
I needed
I hit the road on the weekends to do a show
Ain't ask for money but they
Still gave a lil' dough
Just a bunch of wild kids in the front row
'em grown and then watch 'em lead
Let me proceed, bumpin' that that Californication, by the Red Hot
Fuck around and then hit 'em with a red dot
Y'all
fuck with natural its all the same
Yea, roll down the window
I caught him walking by himself
Dolo
Head shot, leg shot, body shot, hit a nigga with
I enjoy a good life never had shit
Bad bitch on my left rollie on my right wrist
Know these niggas hate me know they got me on they hit list
Hatin
you off
Broad, with the cause (yeah) bitch on a mission
Keep them niggas by they nuts while you hoes be dick kissin
Missing the game, damn bitch it's
track of the album “Cantigas de Maio” (May Songs), that debuted in Santiago de Compostela (capital of Galiza) in May 10th, 1972.
Outlawed by the Fascist
yeah yeah, yeah)
Keeps 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
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Woah, woah woah woah woah
Yung Orad nigga
One and only, Big Curezza
I may be paranoid I gotta keep a Weapon by the side, leggo
How the perky hit
on hard
I be rippin them tracks
And by the time it hit the shelves
I'll be gettin' it back!
So many niggaz playa hatin'
So I'm totin a gat
Pistol grippin',
keep it started
Yeah, yeah, violater the album
Go, go, go!!
[l boogie]
This is for my mob and my thug niggas
Ruff ryder bug niggas, def jam website
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
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
by the CIA or the industry
Know where black hands be on black Glocks
No back stabs or sad plots, we let them rot
1-800-Nas&Hit, don't call us with
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
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
Kick that shit Santana
Lend me a dollar man
Ima rock star with a bad bitch, I feel like Tommy Lee
Ain't no baby in this bitch but I got hoes they up
to Santana Road and Jose
Didn't have nothing, had hand-me-down clothes
Now we hit Rodell, start shopping till it close
And when the store close, they still let
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
ain't no student loans
To pay back, jack, ask
What do you condone
Hit towns wit coke, a .45 blue as chrome
Now they done juiced marone??
Knock, knock are
a bitch, who we gotta
The shoes, Louie products, groupie blah blah
Santana, Zeek the Koofie popper
We the movie shotta
But it's really rude boys
You said you're gonna get up off the couch
(you won't)
You said you're gonna put an album out
(you won't)
You said you're gonna go out on a limb
(you
This is a public service announcement
Sponsored by Just Blaze and the good folks at Roc-A-Fella Records
"Fellow Americans, it is with the utmost
This is a public service announcement
Sponsored by Just Blaze and the good folks at Roc-A-Fella Records
"Fellow Americans, it is with the utmost
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