Lyrics:
a Vicodin, splash, it hits my stomach, then, ah
Couple of weeks go by, it ain't even like I'm gettin' high
Now I need it just not to feel sick, yeah, I'm
plain
Old black extensions
Just a T-shirt about carbon
"I always thought that by the time
I put out a third album, i would want
To come back to natural
nuts, then I (yeah)
Check my ball hair (what?), make sure it's all there (yeah)
Then call the pallbearer (yeah)
It's Music to Be Murdered By again, why
Ru and Frogg at?
I put my hood on like it was cold as fuck
West side Cedar Block and niggas know what's up
I'm with the shit though, my album drop,
eating pork and beans
Viewing us listening to Weezer clean
Up our heart strings with hits
Gasp like pork and beans
Farting up your heart strings
Is this
through you
It's like inch by inch and step by step
I'm closing in on your position and destruction is my mission
Though eight is not enough, your
on my hip to stay alive
But now I've got something to protect, write my name up on a check
Spent it on my car I still beat student debt, let's get this
it hot
I got patterns like Saturn, the rings
The rings
Uh, Gold Digger, that's the single
The single
Gotta hit the club just to mingle, to mingle
Why
rims and cars swervin'
It ain't nothin' for Lil Scrappy and G's up to start murkin'
(Hit 'em up) peace up, (hit 'em up) A-Town down
(Hit 'em up)
I be lookin' like bye-bye
By the way, namaste, where your momma stay?
Tell her Ronnie comin' round the way, lucky day
I be comin' with the God body
Me
'Cause I take two hits, and then I pass
I see the cops in the rear view,
Why can't a motherfucker chill in the car
Feelin' like Missy, why you all up
(Where are you?)
Oh-oh
Oh
The Divine Feminine, an album by Mac Miller
Oh-oh (The Divine Feminine)
(The Divine Feminine) Oh
Am I supposed to?
Snoop talking:
Ay yo G-1 I been listening to this nigga Quik album
& he ain't got no songs about the pussy. You know
that nigga gotta have something
Non-stoppin', I'ma hit 'em till the block explode
Hip hop, R&B, Pop-tart, what you want?
I even got a little rock 'n' roll
The most creative, original, got 'em
wasted
Niggas love tryna put my back where the walls facin'
Big body frames, wasn't into car racin'
Me and Chubbs drive by, shorty heart racin'
I
I do keep it blood like a Piru
I'm in album mode
I'll try'n get every album sold
I'll compose hits like Al Capone
Down the road, no telling how it
No one ever do it like me when I say shit
Rap so good I think of giving up my day shift
Dropped my last album that shit was for the ages
So now I
Yeah, it's CMG the album, nigga, you know what I'm sayin'?
History
You ain't never seen this many gangsters in the same squad
You never seen this
the rings
We lock the game
We got them things
Verse 1:
(Mack 10)
I got 30 cars, lived a rich life
Like a hundred hoes & like 3 wives
All guns & no
'Zy rollin' with my cateye, deadeye
Ain't afraid to flame a rat up
But I hot out fathom
My album hit the shelves
We hustle for record sales
Hit my
Exotic cars we got plenty mileage
Hit the gas then we goin on a speedway
Catch me driftin thru goin on a fuckin outrage
First one hit the gas,
a boulevards in it
My albums coming out and I'm pulling cards in it
My range is so wide I can pull a car in it
Holding so much shine I can put a star in it
him well, get him high, he might fuck around and die
I guess you know by now who's number one
Brooklyn, Brooklyn that's where I'm from
(Number one)
Hahaha (if Young Metro don't trust you, I'm gon' shoot you)
Yeah, yeah
Watch on my wrist is a car lot (let's go)
Lamb' truck talkin', it's
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