Lyrics:
extension cars
And we slanged by to see were my house was
Started stealing out of my mama's perce
Now that she's gone
She lives thrue my songs
And it
I'm in the hood, I'm in the, I'm in the hood
I'm in the hood, I'm in the, I'm in the hood
I'm in the hood, I'm in the, I'm in the hood
Somebody say
shit, me, I'm 'bout to go ape shit
Got eight chicks on eight molly's and they about to take eight trips
Dice game, eight trips, got a Houston Rocket
rubber bands to glaze the dough
My dudes out there slanging hard I call it Joe Frazier blow
Pockets obese, I can't leave the cake alone
If money grew
on
The homie Great John on the beat, by the way
Don't Come Outside, Volume 3 out now
(Great John on the beat, by the way)
I'ma fan Heavenly Father but
Joe Boy Alleycat
Bitch where your mama at
You better fall back
'fore she end up in all black
I'm never caught slipping
Wood grain gripping still Hoover
of staying neutral and discrete
My momma said you're judged by the company you keep
But what you can consider, that if it goes down
They'll kill you if you
So many mouths to feed on the farm
Sonny was the second to the last one born
His mama ran away and his daddy beat him bad
And he grew up wild good
for convenience
Pay somebody bitch just to feed it
Time is elsewhere needed
She screaming this over heated
Stacks so large the machine won't read it
God
my mama, please tell her I said, "Say something"
I'm starting to believe ain't no such thing as heaven's trumpets
No after-over, this is it, done
If
The Rookery - by Sam Baardman
Every night I have a dream, I'm talking to a folk singer
He's looking worn and kind of lean, says he hasn't been
seriously poked in
Your crack by ministers
Eww, these days rappers on my TV
Are braggers about their swagger rocking
Karats off of Ebay
But I ain't tripping,
careless
How I perished
Man somebody please call my momma
Did I die by the hand
Did I die by the gun
I don't know
Did I die by the hand
Did I die by the gun
bein'
You don't wanna motherfuckin'
You don't wanna embrace your destiny
You wanna get by
You don't wanna go into the motherfuckin' dark
Where it's
her
Man, them niggas tried to play me
Man, 'til I got this paper
You're nobody 'til somebody kills you
Fuck you wanna talk about?
Fuckin' jewelries
[Fat Joe]
Yeah uh Terror Squad. (TS)
No Limit fam.
Uh TS. (TS)
Yeah yeah yeah uh.
NY to the NO.
Puttin it down like what.
Don
carried away
So by tomorrow you forgot what you were sayin' today
But don't forget about this feeling that I'm making you get
And all the calories you
carried away
So by tomorrow you forgot what you were sayin' today
But don't forget about this feeling that I'm making you get
And all the calories you
Somebody’s prayin’ for me
Somebody’s prayin’ for me
Because I’m prayin’ for you
Father God help me Ya see me sittin’ here Knock at the door I open
real
Worried about
If a nigga gon outshine they ass
Ask me if been to give it
Cause they sound like trash
Oh if I mark my words
If I ain't dead by now
torn apart from limb
to limbThey dragged me into court and said "Hey what
do you know?"I said "I think somebody fucked with Cheakamus
Joe"The mounties
made it!
Woah!
Mama I made it. Yeah
Ay! Did it like I told you
we not from magnolia, but you really made a soldier
Ay! Lay somebody for you and
I wish
paper
You're nobody 'till somebody kills you
Fuck you wanna talk about?
Fucking jewelries and Bentley's and Hublot's
And fucking art that niggas
to abide by
So stay in line unless you wanna see a homicide
It's nothing to see somebody mama cry
This a dog eat dog world somebody gotta die
In the jungle
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