Lyrics:
Fuck your mixtape, that shit's not (fire)
Fuck your album, that shit's not (fire)
Every time, you hear Chip drops (fire)
Touch the mic and ignite that
Now, big booty I'm recommendin'
And I ain't been in this spot for a minute
Say hold up, wait a minute
She want to get derrty wit it
Now, baby girl
the conversation, you feel me?
Yeah
Gotta get it by any means, I fight fires
Then surround the doubters weighin' heavy boy like Dwight Myers
I'm a livewire off
the music in they ears, they would have lost it
The seventh album by a musician they both revered
First time this planet heard it, let's call it a world
capture the flag
Setting next year’s fads, y’all still rappin’ ‘bout swag
Get your album shrink wrapped, call it trash in a bag
We’re a four-alarm fire,
This song was first released on the Spirit album. It is the only album it has been released on.
Born in the month of June
No silver spoon to help
said (alright)
And I live by the coast of Nostra Cit' (yeah)
Fuck around I'll knock your shoulder from your head (nigga)
Get it right I'm a soldier
snitch niggas
Guess he jealous 'cause I had his favorite bitch with us
Big bucks, steppin' outta big trucks
Steppin' on my feet, it'll get you fucked up
these kids, jeez
Don't give a shit bout lyrics
All they wanna hear is a beat and that's it
Long as they can go to the club and get blitzed
Pick up
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
are always talkin' about your bitches and your cars
Your jewelry and your girls. It's like we from two different worlds
You motherfuckers really get
a lotta rappers in my city keep it real
Juju Bucks keep it Real... yeah
I keep on getting better by the day
I'm working gotta an album on the way
I'm
on a beat
That's dinner that you giving me
My songs on the radio
Everybody feeling me
Wanna see a grammy on my shelf
Make it out the bottom by myself
Do these
Dade Country, 305, rep the whole M-I-A
A.K.'s and Chevrolets, nappy braids and heads shaved
Look here, shit real, we really get it how we live
We get
rappin' for a joke
A passing hope or a phase with a rope
Sometimes I choke and try to believe
When I get challenged by a million MCs
I try to tell them,
still takin' rappin' for a joke
A passing hope or a phase with a rope
Sometimes I choke and try to believe
When I get challenged by a million MCs
I
takin' rappin' for a joke
A passing hope or a phase with a rope
Sometimes I choke and try to believe
When I get challenged by a million MCs
I try
bitch the album coming
I know it probably got Em sweating like corona coming
I ran thru hell tortured Satan and had his demons running
They probably
away
But this game I play ain't no
Way to fix it it's inevitable
Bills gotta get paid, kids gotta eat
Live by the chopper laws die by the streets
Fuck
a reflection of your heart. That words alone could never capture. When I write a Christmas song, it is almost always born from a moment in my life, inspired by
[Too $hort]
Album number 12
Short Dogg still in the house
I ain't going back into retirement
Life is
Anything is possible try hard
It ain't
[Intro: Shyheim]
"In Trouble"
Yeah, yeah, word, what?
"In Trouble"
That's my word, Allah
"In Trouble"
Get me out of this one, please!
"In
the reason yo buddy late
Had to shift gears and then act like my blinkers aint workin'
So I could get outta that bloody lane
It ain't no truth or dares where
Slum village with the feeling, get a beat
I bet you I'ma kill it (kill it)
Huh, you ain't ready for the realest high
Suck it right between the ceiling
.jpg/179px-Whitesnake_San_Antonio_2015_6_(Cropped).jpg "David Coverdale & Whitesnake")
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