Lyrics:
the free-throw line and bang
Now, I bust and crush tracks, nothin' really changed
Except, twelve-inch scars on my body
What I mean by that, I was hit by some
Even if I made an album
With a Punjabi hit-squad
Clash me, I'll make you jump like Kris Kross
Make a man know, that I'm not a nimrod
And if you still
Tired of these rappers, tired of these jackers
I'm tired of these dances by these fuckin' backpackers
And I'm sick of all these hipsters, I'm sick
this,
Shorty ain’t ever met a nigga,
Fondue’n, got drip like this,
Bought a nice watch for the wrist,
Gotta hit Abe’s for the steak,
Sleep straight by
All you know when the album drop my name gonna blow like bang!
I just bust down doors cuz all those watches never gonna be my thang
My shit bang when
They
'boutta hit this muhfuckin' album
(Oh oh-Oh, yeah yeah yeah yeah, whoa)
Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah
I done seen a lot of things, yeah yeah
Nowadays, sit
Indeed truly we are the mighty mighty BDP posse
This is our fourth album and we're still not takin' no shorts
Yeah, ha hah!
On the wheels
by the CIA or the industry
Know where black hands be on black Glocks
No back stabs or sad plots, we let them rot
1-800-Nas&Hit, don't call us with
with a odd alliance of fairytale
Or maybe just a metal pail that you hit with a steel tools
To announce that you've had enough and dropping out of seal
the Squad, try and shittin the God
This ain't no "Scarface" shit, blow up your kids in the car
And since you wanna act like you livin a movie
I'll hit you
Yo, I've been sat back, relaxed with rap, I almost let the passion pass
Procrastinating rapping Have them asking where the album at
So fuck it, y'all
Yo, I've been sat back, relaxed with rap, I almost let the passion pass
Procrastinating rapping Have them asking where the album at
So fuck it, y'all
Tired of these rappers, tired of these jackers
I'm tired of these dances by these fuckin' backpackers
And I'm sick of all these hipsters, I'm sick
si cigu, vyfukujem dym
Riešim len súčasný moment, nerozmýšľam nad ničím
Nejak má chytá slina, dal by som si niečo piť
Medzitým navarím další nový hit
'em out the box
I got a rhyme to wake, you're sloppin' up and down the blocks
There never was a time when I was down to meetin' by myself
When all
bloodstains are all over this steel god dang-it
Bitch bring it, these niggas that I hang with
I hang you up naked by your ankles danglin' (ow, ow)
My need I
in the pool with ya mama
Attack her by the legs then I pull her to the bottom (yeah)
Twist nothin' up like a condom
Slap it if you fuckers got
étriquée de hit box, l'avidité du Hobbit
Au lieu de se sauver on compare encore nos b
way onto In Utero)
Following the release of In Utero in 1993
We once again hit the road
Using left over props
From the "Heart-Shaped Box" video
Shoot
Everybody, everybody
Everybody
Everybody sit your bitch ass down and
Listen to this true mothafuckin' story told by Kendrick Lamar on Rosecrans,
got wise by hard livin'
I sleep all day, smoke haze, manage` women
I spit these hard rhythms, it feel like a car hit 'em
So leave that boy alone, can't
Yoda
A Florida, Pensacola
There's more to roll-a by Motorola
I'm in control-a, I hit the quota
I made this beat sound while
I was in Minnesots
Fuck,
do not hot, box
When I be rapping and dropping them hits then I promise I'm leaving you jaw, dropped
Don't got a drop, top
I don't got a rock, watch
Kollár
V piči jak ľudia čo hovoria soráč
Olá sme hot jak plynový šporák
Zas ďalší album a zas ďalší hit
Tam kde dáme feat to je heat jak Miami
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