Lyrics:
We like the breeze flow straight out of our lids
Them they got moved by these hard-rock Brooklyn kids
Us floor rush when the DJ's booming classics
We like the breeze flow straight out of our lids
Them they got moved by these hard-rock Brooklyn kids
Us floor rush when the DJ's booming classics
test
Got DJ Scott LaRock by my side, not in back of me
'Cause we make up the Boogie Down Productions crew faculty
Get it right, or train yourself not
An interlude between the chorus
Fight I'm telling myself it's alright
But what about all these muso's who count time
Doesn't matter it's just
on the bed,
But what you expect,
When you more than a friend,
And your body so soft like a fresh loaf of bread,
But i keep it dialed down, outta respect,
get they wigs melted
When I'm rushed out, fresh out
Verbal bash-out
P.D.'s that made man
Ready to get off for some action
[Interlude]
(You wanna roam
BY THE CRITICISM AND RIDICULE
NIGGAS DIS SONGS IS AKLL FILLERS AND INTERLUDES
BUT IN STILL THE DUDE THAT CONDUCT HIS INTERVIEWS
LIKE A CLASS ACT IM
I swear I won't even rent it
Never losing control, If I said it I meant it
Loading up a fresh bowl, as I prepare for ascendance
When you spit you
Milly getting’ dough always take to show
Fresh from head 2 toe cause yah boy stays fly
Birdy’s show me love always gives me hugs
I get groupie love
respite
Or respite from the terrain of fresh ice
That'll freeze over bridges formed in friends eyes
Hard to feel love surrounded by spite
Question
getting’ dough always take to show
Fresh from head 2 toe cause yah boy stays fly
Birdy’s show me love always gives me hugs
I get groupie love whenever I’m
There I was so island fresh with a suitcase in my hand.
Hidin’ from that cold black night, just tryin’ to join a band.
There I stood the king
treat
I'm a nice guy, but got real mean moves
I choose the scene to be seen by you
I've got a clean shirt and fresh pressed pants
Cuz girls like nice guys
for this
I swear I get it off the love
Louisiana nigga you can tell
By my mothafuckin' grammar
I swear I got 3 hoes with
Me just like I'm Santa
These
everything you wanted cause I can't be weak
Yeah baby that's it, do the split
Freak nasty all on my tip
I took it to my DJ fresh on wax
Put it
you want to know I don't even know
I'm going to walk by like idk you
All the fake lil things you do
I leave them behind like you leave me too
But if
There's a four by four, blacked out four door
Ice cold six pack in the floorboard
That's got my name on it
Hot little chick, cherry bomb red
melt
Tokyo Tribe, DJ Muro, king of the digging
Crazy yen style stay winnin'
Diggin' daddy, ammo is brolic
Fila sneakers and suede goose, walked in
*"hey" repeated throughout the Intro and Chorus*"
[Intro - Classified - talking]
My word, ha!
[Chorus - Cuts by DJ Jorun] - w/ ad libs
"We don't
some chicks and get some digits
And the DJ's playing them hits
Oh this my jam, this my shit
We don't know a word to a verse
All we know is the chorus
not to flip
Smoke a blunt, pour some white out for Bankroll Fresh
Every motherfuckin' Rollie, might as well buy a vest
Grind hard, fuck the rest, DJ
with America's #1 DJ, Funkmaster Flex
In collaboration with America's, pardon me, #1 independent rap label, Dipset
And right now I'm accompanied by
instead of enslaved and depraved
waiting to be tortured by Ralphus(?) and sow(?) doom(?)
are you willing to accept me as your master
[CHORUS A]
I got
This is, this is
Doing what I gotta do
What up though?
We the best music
I guess I'm on my Don shit
What that mean?
I'mma go
DJ Khaled
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