Lyrics:
that money now
Now, I'll prolly end up sad or even surly
Older goin out cynical, depression was inherited
Therapist say it's clinical
B-I-P
real.
I'm 'bout to do my thing to shine.
Said everybody
Shine.
See'mon."
It's not luck that I'm sittin' here
Spittin' for y'all.
Preeld in by
and die young
That's the anthem
Die young, dude
You'll sell more albums
Still young enough to die as old as Hendrix
Then it's R.I.P. Bizzy
Now your legacy
In today's music news: the ever controversial Tupac Shakur has
Just released another album under the alias Makaveli.
Music insiders are running wild
story never told
The album never sold
The only testament
A guide inside Vig Soul
Too young and too early
To sound so damn late and old
Too hot to have
of the sea!)
I hang wit some folk who play in the street, but not about me..(yea)
Not about me..(aye!)
Spell it boy, A L i C! (Aye) (ya-ya)
Young P.A.C. and I
kill it
I'ma kill it
My nigga its the
M-A-Triple-D-O
Don't forget the C ho
Visualize the audio
Its album number cinco
Lyrics by the Doctor
You're
I know you're by yourself
I know there's a love for us
For all our accomplishments
This is beyond our sin
I do not want this shit
I was lost boy,
bars, I'm a lifer
I just do it for the kids, like Michelle Pfeiffer
I'm gettin' paid, like when Chris left Billie Piper
Uh, bustin' Dom P with Lil'
Whattya think makes up a KRS?
Whattya think makes up a KRS?
Whattya think makes up a KRS?
Skinny cat, young cat, with a knapsack strapped to my
wanna be like me and me
Tryna blow up like TNT
But not for the cash or the p’s and green
Just by myself repping 3 and 3
Open doors are what I seem to see
got it
Fat boy, rich nigga, with a appetite
Count money all night under the candlelight
Spinnin' vinyl, Teddy P, or is it Lionel?
Not a model, but I
the Beamer (oh-oh)
I put that girl in a P1 (oh-oh)
She make a mess then she clean up (oh yeah)
She call her friend, her name Tina
I turn that shit
Uh, chillin' in the 6
Smokin' the Cali, ice bucket challenge on my wrist
Young and black in the US, it's a challenge to exist
Stove a thousand
album baby, I came back around
By myself this time, back off the wall
Guns up in the air in the middle of the streets like blak blak blak, welcome
album baby, I came back around
By myself this time, back off the wall
Guns up in the air in the middle of the streets like blak blak blak, welcome
But still shorty wild
Turned on by forty cals
Was young never saw me wild, clutch Robert Horry style
No wonder why I picked up triggers to beef
I
slow on a flow, on the Boss c.d
By now you should know, better than to run your mouth
Remember in Garden City, when Chris knocked your ass out
For
nights
And nobody ever wiped the tears from my fucking eyes
Used to be here by my lonely with all this pain inside
Backstabbed so many times that the scars
Yeah woah, Cudi
Yeah
It's summer time, Cudi vibes, when my minds right, go for the goal line
Juke by the nay sayers and the two times
Leave 'em in
We got low and them P's by the boater
She make it clap, Draco, Soulja
Snake in the grass
Cut the head off the Cobra
Bang, bang, bang, I'm the new
Mr. Big Dreams no tolerance
Cut you at the house and haven't hollered since
Get bored quickly
He stay grown
So the p-a-tron had to get poured
the homie cuttin'
Records like a villain
So buy the album cause we're
Gonna make a killin' and I'ma carry a nation
Fade in to Perfection gets a standing
the banister
Shoot him on camera then kill his manager
Then hang a banner up
That reads you can't proceed
Without bein' conceived
By one album of the 90's
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