Lyrics:
to Texas up to Washington
Then headin' home to wash some clothes and do it all again
Gotta head to Chattanooga, Knoxville, and to VA
To by god West
I'mma build up a wall Brick by Brick, I'm a build up a wall
Brick by brick by brick by brick, I'm sick, Keep your head up, stand tall
Brick by brick,
be trippin dont be doin no drive-bys
Cause we dont gangbang, dont wear blue or red
We like that fuckin green, papers what I said
Big Moe wassup, in
(Big Moe)
Yeee-yeee haahee yeehaa, yeee-yaahee
That nigga Big Ass Moe
Chillin with my partna named D-mo
Its on his birthday we comin through
In
grow
Write some bars and watch you suck on my big toe
Bobby Taylor on the mic
(sneaky beaky like)
They call me fat Bobs cus' that is my name (woo)
of dimes
Just to pass the time
Living like a Don, mafietic mind state
Hip-hop heads never die
We multiply then dominate
Now I been flowin' since a
Adolescent
Napoleon murphy brock (vocals)
Bob harris (vocals)
Johnny "guitar" watson (vocals)
Thing-fish: (to the rubber girl)
Hmmm! dat quite a massive improve'lence,
untraceable
And they're explosive head bullets, your favorite
Come here, son
Come here, for a minute
Hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up
Yo, send Bobby
untraceable
And they're explosive head bullets, your favorite
Come here, son
Come here, for a minute
Hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up
Yo, send Bobby
already ridin` baby,
It`s a little too late,
Johnny`s takin` heads off of all faggots who hate.
Cuz I'm like God, motherfucker, there's a price to pay!!
Ya
I’m a heartbreaker, Tom Petty
I slide then I spray like confetti
Heart cold as a yeti
I speed through the track like Andretti
And none of these
ourselves
We can't babble no more than we can bob our head offbeat
Nimrod by the time we forty cause we can't get off meat
While we ask no reason for
ourselves
We can't babble no more than we can bob our head offbeat
Nimrod by the time we forty cause we can't get off meat
While we ask no reason for
want your kids growin up
thinkin they never had no daddy
Big Pun, rest in peace forever
Bronx, pour some liqour, AHHH
Slang Tom, rest in peace
Napoleon murphy brock (vocals)
Bob harris (vocals)
Johnny "guitar" watson (vocals)
Harry:
Jesus, that was terrific! I've never experienced anything quite
Bob Shane/Tom Drake/Miriam Stafford
Chorus:
Run Molly, run (oh, Molly). Run Molly, run. Long John's gonna beat you, beneath the shinin' sun.
Long
of high that make you call your kinfolks
And tell "Loc, Johnny's dead
A fourteen-year-old kid put a nine to his head
All because he wanted that gear he was
heartless, yeah
Hard times, I been tryna keep my head up
Been in jail, I been tryna do better
Know I'll still be there when you need me
Hard times don't
big meals
Got my money up by myself, fuck a big deal
All these shawties wan' fuck now that I'm up, I'm a big deal
We some rockstars livin', we do all
You'll just give them some time
All across this great big land
There were acres of trees planted by his hand
Everywhere he went the orchards spread
When
Strike a pose
Hot as hell
Grab your chicken head by the tail
A lot of tail
Can generate you a lot of mail
I'm the victorious
You the big time
Ya gal
Home of the World Trade. Birthplace of Michael Jordan.
Home of Biggie Smalls. Roc-A-Fella head quaters.
Ladies and gentlemen, Killa Cam, Young Hov is
the pipeline
They call him Big Shot Bob
(Big Shot Bob)
Seven rings they drip from his hands
Seven figures from being our man
Heavenly digits I dial on my phone
on mars
Or what they do when they up in the stars
Because i don't believe a word of what the president said
He filling our head with lies got us hypnotised
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