Lyrics:
my voice
It make her moist
Hit that cat from the back and
Watch it make a weird noise
Niggas excited by these bitches
Them them weird boys
So many
murder the spiritual
Walking in hell's kitchen
Slow bitches standing on they tippy-toes
Sounds like what great things
Should sound like
Tyga fly though
plate
Bill him what, half of that he have it late
His best friend by the yellow crates
Suicide, tears tryna hesitate
Only seventeen, damn, seventeen
nights
Though it might seem wrong thank god for that white
They use to call me the pirex kid, aka young arm and hammer
In the kitchen with the pots yeah
Momma's got her apron on standin'
In the kitchen
Cookin' up my favorite dish whatever
She is fixin'
Daddy's in a picture in a frame that's
the backyard four feet tall
Cheech and Chong probably would of smoked 'em all
So I'm out on the couch this afternoon
Beer bottles layin' on the kitchen floor
If
flies in the kitchen
I can hear 'em in there buzzin'
And I ain't done nothin'
Since I woke up today
How the hell can a person
Go to work in
away from hell
Carry in here baby, tell me what ya need to know
[Bizzy] Yeah, yeah
[Chorus]
[Bizzy - over Chorus]
Turn that shit up, turn the vocals
It's Mr. Thompson my next door neighbor.
Always bitchin'! Yellin' from the kitchen, window.
See he died then he went to hell, though.
We meet
a human I'm proving to you
That you don't gotta be no student the dream I'm steady pursuing
I'm Bruin in Hell's Kitchen no UCLA
One day all my diamonds gon
Yeah it's right by my britches
Count up that sack
I'm all up in mamma kitchen
Calling her phone
Your b**** she ain't missing
Box with her cat you
bro he smart as hell with them books in his classes,
But come fucking with him and he tell me that's when I'm gone whoop everybody asses,
My dad's
they Ain’t playing by no kinda rules
It ain’t no escape, even pouring into public schools
Stay away from ones who think we do it bc its kinda cool,
Hell No: by Brody Gauthier
All these Rappers on the tv I’m like change
The remote
This what music sound like when its properly wrote
And I got
fucking dead
Overdose on your pills, I tell myself thats it
That’s when I went out in the kitchen
When you were bitching that I didnt love you
So I slit in
the mirror and you lookin in it
In the middle of The Pit, Hell's Kitchen, and you cookin in it
Opened up for business from Plymouth, with no warning threw
to come face to face with it
Metal bracelets if you got questions
Hospital patient you wastin' a bed on
Suffocated by the pillow your head on
Roll up
Look look listen
I'm from a jungle with a forest of affiliations
Next generation fascinated by that life we shapin'
It's hard to make it out this
scoring leader uh
I'm out Jamaica with a bowl of reefer
With Mona Lisa I roll the leaf up uh uh
Vintage Chanel frames I say to hell with fame
And when
do or I don't
Stereo typed
Forgotten if he ain't getting money
Hell be alright
It's
The loss of life
The shine
The Sparkle in they eyes
Time to give em hell, Pharaoh got mo' bell, whippin' ass, can't you tell
Got the game sold out like I stitched this shit myself
Hold up, you got mail
blow off
Use what I was missing, I'm living in hell's kitchen, eating some hell's chicken
Laying next to her, got me homesick, bad vibes all around,
tryna test me cause Sizu's gon put on hell of a fight
Ayo
Sizu lil beast
Sizu big beat
Not a lil meat
She ain't no treat
She fighting and whooping their
variety
For every plastic orange bottle
For tarnished pharmacy labels chafed in abrasive pockets
Suit the hell hounds with blades and chain links
For
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