Lyrics:
have something I'd like you to see
Fly with me
Fly with me
I don't really have a broom
I have a fife
You'd have to ask my wife
About the fife
I don
I see the crystals in the smoke
No na, baby girl don't you choke
Made an album my first year
By God's grace OTM we going clear
I ain't lazy
Do what I
they're taking toll
If you've been bad, Lord, I bet you have
And you've not been hit by flying lead
You've not been hit by flying lead
You'd better
cracker a day (what? Oh shit)
Girl, well, I heard the bitch was married to Tim
And started fucking with Trina
Well, I heard the bitch got hit by three
cracker a day (what? Oh shit)
Girl, well, I heard the bitch was married to Tim
And started fucking with Trina
Well, I heard the bitch got hit by three
I met you in a club in Atlanta, Georgia
Said me and my homeboy were coming out with an album
You looked at me like, "Yeah, nigga right"
But you
or
Un-corrupt police at least "Come on Will
You gotta tell me!" I grabbed and
Shook him by the arm
The L train was leaving Bedford with 10
000 white
a threat that's growin with ya, step from the hills to the best
I prove that I'm witty by usin my mind
I spit from my heart so you don't confuse me with
When homeboys put vogues on any car
With 6 by 9's smoking burner
Everybody got addicted to my dope fiend beat
Whole town fucked around and started
Photo album but the color faded from it
If I could back and tell you how it ends, I woulda done it
Don't look down
Don't look down
Friends
be the best grime artist
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
don't know where he was at (woah)
Ran the doggy train and I didn't have a track (woah, hey, hey)
I say what I mean and I don't take it back
With
your son," girl, don't trip about it
Walk up in with apple sauce and broccoli
Little Bobby, better eat your greens, boy, don't give me lip about it
summarizing the album for all you listeners
And Essentially what happened was there was a bee
he had to become a Better Man because he was with this bug
We
trash can
With more holes than an Afghan
So when you see me on your block with two Glocks
Screamin', "Fuck the world," like 2Pac
I just don't give
trash can
With more holes than an Afghan
So when you see me on your block with two Glocks
Screamin', "Fuck the world," like 2Pac
I just don't give
trash can
With more holes than an Afghan
So when you see me on your block with two Glocks
Screamin', "Fuck the world," like 2Pac
I just don't give
to the mood I'm in i'mma be who I am
Sell it to the kids and the crew
They rep and they fuck with it
I don't wanna be another
Rapper with a gimmick
I just
doing, is from my old record
They bought my album, for $8.99
Studied the style, then wrote they own rhyme
I don't mind because I'm here to show
I swear this karma I've been payin' with life
And I don't really know when the price is due
I need a tattoo of Christ on my chest
And I swear a n****
to trick
Equipped with game so we bang wit this thuggish shit
I see you trying to hide
Hoping that nobody don't notice
You must always remember you still
class with a fake Birkin that's a hot purse (hot)
Don't get your head tapped for a little feature money, just a hot verse
Got me a little shooter nigga
New York City, we piss in it, we live in it
We die, we all take shits in it
[Kool Keith]
There's a million albums out there with that opera
Okay, right, we're here live in the studio with Ricky Jamaraz (Hi everyone)
Hello everyone (Hiii)
This is the final track of your new album
.JPG/222px-Arve_Moen_Bergset_med_Oslo_Filharmonien_(cropped).JPG "Arve Moen Bergset")
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