Lyrics:
you think you can hang"
"I'm out for dead fucking
Presidents to represent me"
"yeah, bring it on if you think you can hang
And if not then let me do
My
y'all (that y'all!)
And that's all!
Street's disciple, my raps are trifle
I shoot slugs from my brain just like a rifle
Stampede the stage, I leave
'm buryin' my thug passion
I heard it's the bomb
And you got it goin' on
Give me some of your thug passion, baby (thug passion)
You got me drippin' wet
for school lunch
You up here lyin' 'bout shit
That you ain't do once
My life? I'm like a modern day RL stein
These stories will give you Goosebumps
I do
(that y'all!)
And that's all!
Street's disciple, my raps are trifle
I shoot slugs from my brain just like a rifle
Stampede the stage, I leave
killing our own, that's why we gotta to stick together
I be damned if we don't fight, we've got to try this shit together
Dear Mr. President, you
of a third eye
The silent sleep, and wicked
I work you niggaz out like physics, I blast out from the heart
of Brooklyn, like an arrow, just stick to my
J dilla
He on his way home
Know he see me spillin' my heart
Hope for it soon wait a minute K dot! you
Said turn it back on, bring it back
If dreams
drop no dollars, but he do drop bombs
R.I.P. Tay cause he died in the storm, fuck president (Georgia) Bush
See us in ya city man, give us a pound
'm loved, Merci, dear life, come on
[Bridge: Cee & Richeus]
Dear life, you know I'm indebted
I'm just tryina see my name up on the bill like a President
So
The sound of the waves on the embankment
A phone in my left pocket
I'm leaving, you're staying
A forgotten city by me
You're so beautiful, my dream hasn't
refuel, re-energize and rewind
I give sight to the blind, my insight through the mind
I exercise my right to express when I feel it's time
It's just all
why I'm around, will you still stick with me?
Never wana stand by me Just wana still from me
My refusal gets your sharp thing under my skin like in
Between the eyes
(movie like speech:)
Kasper: ha, ha, well done Mr. Cairo, and what do you have to say about that, my friend?
Spade: Allright. So
This song is for my mama,
This song is for you.
Hey mr. president,
Tomorrow i'm paying my rent
My fuel is runnin' low
And i've got places
they can train us
But then America fucked up and blamed us
Down to die, for everything I represent
Meant every word
In my letter to the President
After
y'all (that y'all!)
And that's all!
Street's disciple, my raps are trifle
I shoot slugs from my brain just like a rifle
Stampede the stage, I leave
because he was
Doing positive inside of Chicago
Just like how I'm moving back
To Chicago and it's not just about, you know
Getting on stage and being
converts even. And the Boss himself mighta caught a little of it from the side of the stage.
I give G.E. his guitar back, and I mouth "thank you" to Garcia
not come in on Monday nights
You're in for a real treat, ladies and gentlemen
Give it to Mr. Hall
Rip out my soul from the depths of my flesh
before
You start your real service"
I roll my eyes, three months of slave labour
Mum elbows me and points to the stage
"Focus" councillor Corrumpere
of a third eye
The silent sleep, and wicked
I work you niggaz out like physics, I blast out from the heart
of Brooklyn, like an arrow, just stick to my
[Mr.Cheeks ]
Yo we come through like bulls nigga take two puffs and pass
Nigga watch your back once you talk out your ass
I back up 3 80 and my
Hey, grandma
Yeah, I'm still out makin' my Uber runs
I'll be home soon
I just got one more pick up, kinda close to 8 Mile
Okay, okay, love you
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