Lyrics:
(yeah)
Everybody waitin' on me to drop 'cause they all sound the same
Plugs goin' broke, you know the streets'll never be the same
Prices fucked up,
It looks like another one's comin around
So the Black Thought gots to get down y'all, yeah
Pass the what? (Pass the popcorn)
It looks like
the team on my back
Beyblade I'm letting it rip
In event that I miss then I'm doubling back
I hear them say I can't do it
I'll do it I did it you know that's
time high, they couldn't know it was raw
You would die if you smoked it, too potent to snort
If you think by the bar, you probably choke on the thought
kidney damn it's a habit
Damn it's a habit four nickel on my waist wreaking havoc
I got a bad habit, know that im totting this ratchet
Know this chevelle
paint just to make it all complete eh
Pull up in a Chevy eh
Yeah
Pull up in a Chevy eh
Pull up in a Chevy eh
I might
Pull up in a Chevy
There's a feeling
My life a dvd, I watch it play right before me
The quality a little fuzzy I'm lacking hd
The thought of thinking, now I got the fucking heeby jeebs
My life a dvd, I watch it play right before me
The quality a little fuzzy im lacking hd
The thought of thinking, now I got the fucking heeby jeebs
gets the grits? (Say what?) Bust it
I can tell another bout real grits getters
Gettin grits y'all (Say what?) Bust it, let a
Brother tell another
air forces white tank and shit
Ain't nothing soft on boy stop thankin' it
I got a trophy at the playa ball banquet
This bank I get style we all that
It's The Same shxt Bitch I paint Picks
An Artis Who Just Make Hits
you a Bitch who can't take Hints
Y'all just don't know
What doesn't Show doesn't
Of the AM Radio
The VCR and the DVD
There was none of that crap
Back in 1970
We didn't know about a
World Wide Web
It was a whole different game
Being played
was none of that crap
Back in 1970
We didn't know about a
World Wide Web
It was a whole different game
Playin' back when
I was a kid
Want
have lost their index
So I ain't had another one ever since then
Still, me and my niggas we all hitmen
(Murderer! Fuck about and I'll murder ya)
In
Uh, Lil' Flip, them hatas still mad
Man look, Big T
Why y'all haters still mad
(I said I don't know why baby)
'Cause Screwed Up Click acting bad
a year though
Or todayyou start makin more then its more to pay
Start makin more then its more to pay
Okayjust the another day I bought some new Gucci
You
smoking propane
While you bitches lose another soul
Reselling everything for the check
Not a secret, the melodies always imitated
Yeah, i hate it
Grab
island
Peninsula maybe, it makes no sense
I know crazy
Give up all this pussy cat that's in my lap
No looking back
Spaceships don't come equipped
With
Chevelle, custom painted primer black
He toiled changed the oil by the garden in the back
But when Stanley walked back towards the house he knocked the pan
the gun, yeah (ya'kno?)
If you live by the gun, die by the gun, yeah (watch this)
It's a shame that the hood's an addiction
Them man fell from
fuckin’
Up the path, for real
And got my little man’s future looking bad
It’s ill
Y’all Smack DVDs niggas ain’t real at all
‘Cause real killers keep
Their
Rah, rah, rah, rah, brrt
I want my fucking respect, man
Told y'all niggas
Know what the fuck it is nigga
Griselda, nigga griselda
Machine bitch
it
Yet now, I got hot hands
But, does this make up for it, forged lines that can't afford to miss
Will this bring back the people that got us all here
the motherfucker
I just throw it in the gutter, and go buy another
(Chorus)
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