Lyrics:
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
hit the Lotto
Slum to the dirt, boy, livin' by the motto
Catfish Billy trappin' out the Amoco
Rebel, I'm a rebel like David Allan Coe
Chicken in
Falling just like confetti I told these nigga's again
And I don't break or bend he without sin
Hit them and spin again
Then gotta get it back
Two Glocks
the
Uke and guitar and like singing stuff
She's great though
That's impressive
High key the best song on the album
Very consistently everyone's favorite
I
Had to recap, they lied about me 2 times
I don't trust nobody, I swear everyone got 2 minds
We don't work 9 to 5s, yeah I'm living 2 lives
Came in so
of the rings
Add that shit up that 2 lines by a 3
But I bet i be loaded like glocks on a sting
Only pour red i do not do the green
Only want bread i do
KRS One is just the guy to lead a crew
Right up to your face and dis you
Everyone saw me on the last album cover
Holding a pistol
Something far
do I entertain y'all with my disrespect?
Respectfully (Great John on the beat, by the way)
Lil Nas X gon' catch AIDS and die like Eazy-E (he is)
Led Zeppelin Four and Two
Take Off Your Pants and Jacket by Blink 182
The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me by Brand New
Phrenology The Roots
Foo
And nigga, you can't play wit my yo yo
She keep a fo-fo and the H2
Sittin' on low pros, whooaa
And 50 know, she roll with 50 hoes
And keep them sticky dro
game, heroin in
The vain, fuck'n with there brains. Who the next nigga
Ta get popped by a cop? Who the next in the hood 2
Get shot? I hope it ain't me,
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
junkie
I be on that shit like Pookie
Hit the strip club
And make a mothafuckin' movie
PT nigga your truly
Me and Nick off in that Dulley
Alabama Line
[Eminem speaks]
Fuck this, cut this shit off. Hey yo, Head.
That's why I fucked your mother, you fat motherfucker
[Scratching/2 Pac's "Hit 'Em Up"]
Kill
rifle, mayne.
In tha muthafuckin bushes waiting for that nigga to come outside.
[Verse 2:]
Bitch you bet not come outside or imma hit you wit that glock
some hell, celebratin' our senior year
we had a trash bag full of cloths and a suitcase full of beers
We got pulled over by the Alabama state patrol
you stuck in a three
So you know your floss game ain't nuttin to me
When the sun hits the cross, yo it's something to see
are-be , Kid Capri niggas
shit
The Narcs about to hit
His habit made em tell
Officer and the law,bastard crooked as hell
They lookin for Terrel
Mixed him up with Derrel it's 2
Real love don't have an image
Not magic witness by havin’
Bitches or grabbin' riches
If it's about your own self-validation
You’re bound to fail
Rebel, renegade, must stay paid
Not by financial aid, but a raid of hits
Causing me to take long trips
I'm the original teacher of this type of style
wack, they all see me
Warm up two like some hot car seats
By the end of this year, I'll buy a TV
I'll be on TV, on a tall HD
I'm living that life and I
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
Now it's about to be talked about
You're gettin' slapped by my grammar
Vocals like a hammer with roots from Alabama
I'm under
Yo what's up guys welcome to the Nasy podcast
It is your host, King Squishy
And welcome to this lovely album we call "The Youngins"
So today I got
, that's what my cousin Meechie say
But we could pull about five, I'm talkin' five, that's just by either way
Five million for my album, that's an easy
.jpg/300px-The_Blind_Boys_of_Alabama_Cosmopolite_2018_(202624).jpg "The Original Five Blind Boys of Alabama")
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