Lyrics:
What you know about the South, get on it
If it's money to be made, then I want it
A lick to be hit, so you know I'm gonna hit it
A dollar to be made,
with some rules
Ayy, JoJo, I need you to take notes too
Don't take me off the deluxe album that no one gives a fuck about
Take me off the original too
Right under em' Vicky clothes
Hit mail roles and shail toles
And wife beatas, get Nike whifee
She in love with addidas
Ma, I'm in love with Anina
Chuck
fucking weapon
When I was three I was just a little G
But if you looked in my eyes you'd see the future of a real MC
And at the age of nine I wrote my first
precise right in the pocket
Stupid dope beats and Evil E rocks it
The girl straight from the heart
My jam is sure to hit the top of the charts
Ram is my
but who's counting
2 G's on my feet, more dripped out than a fountain
I get that you hate me, but buddy boy, stop shouting
Going down the wrong path,
album went six thousand on niggas
In Kansas City alone, we packed the dome with Mike and Liddy alone
In the west side, Lee Jone, Milly Mal, I left you
you saving for? You know?
(And by the way sir, this Fendi shirt's a go)
Just because there's more to it than music
You understand?
Niggas gotta have
for a second
What I'm doing right or wrong
Maybe I can write a song
That might finally put me on
Get me playlisted tomorrow
Never take the long road
Hit
tea
Smooth operator mixed with Kenny g
From LA to Pluto
I'm numero uno
Get down not too low
My rhymes leaves you mudo
Head strong like tony
Don't
bitch for the whole album
Keep talkin' that shit, you know I'm with the drama
Uh, uh, I'm fuckin' up, I fuckin' know I'm the best
I come from the G, 14
shit on your new album or what?
Yeah, I'm gonna kick some of that shit
But ah, partner I don't even fuck with the nine no more half
Man don't you
and it's right by water
I'm the Trap God and I walk on water
G-Gucci Mane I'm the water man
Make it rain, do the water dance
Water dripping like
scare you, I can tell 'cause your shivering
Lyrics label wit an X and not a G
I say fuck the police, yo, so now they after me
I'm wanted by the law so
chicks and get some digit's
And the DJ's playing them hit's
"Oh, this my jam! This my shit!
We don't know a word to a verse
All we know is the chorus
In today's music news: the ever controversial Tupac Shakur has
Just released another album under the alias Makaveli.
Music insiders are running wild
got to get my hair done so I got to blow-dry
I always hit the target so I got a bullseye
I need a little attention so I know you come by
I know I'm hard
the album, now you born again
Dry devils, come up wet devils, let the story begin
Is it, five bibles or five rifles, pray them down or shoot them dead
I hang
sitting with Chef Agua
A dark Kenny G
I blow loud sacks (Sax)
It’s sour doe
Like my bread hence I earn it so
Gotta keep some henny in my chalice
Twisting
shit just had me Damned
Kung Fu Kenny till we land
This all facts, you just pretend
You do this, you get canned
I'm just hanging by a strand
Still living
tires with the platinum Daytons
I'm not that B-G popping all that junk
About "I'll fuck you up," he sound like a punk
I been there and done that, no
of a magazine ain't even got a album out
Hop at da streets my delete cuh my hits out
Now I'm da one everybody wanna talk about
Hustle hard ball harder dats wat I
run that party, not the the NDP
I'm playing NPG, Prince and 10cc
They say the kids got balls by the plenty, B
Sax like Kenny G, any key
Kings like Akeem
more wack albums with two joints
No more ballplayin' rappers who shoot ya two points
(No more G 'cause I'm sick of your hip-hop!)
Your flows bore like
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