Lyrics:
the three
You niggas really not fuckin' with prayer
That's what's gon' leave his ass dead
I let nothing catch it, now that shit's too bad
I might be
the three time losers
Pour out some beer, bust out the ruger
Ladies and gentleman
Bullets will leave you tremblin'
Shooken up
I got my cuban mommy cooking up
Geoffrey
Not Prince or Will Smith, but I know I'm the freshest
I'm on the grind like I'm Tony (hawk)
I got my mind on my money (the gwalla)
No apple, but
not confess
Smart, dumb, thick, sweet heart chick
She’s a legend she’s a myth
All treat no tricks
Real Hair no wigs
“Mr. & Mrs. Smith”
J.A.M.3.L
Ten million dollars later I'm a blessing, nigga
How a nigga rich but still stressing, nigga
Glock-40, Smith & Wesson, nigga
Streets will never ever
American boys
Named Perry and Dick
Who will spin the thread of life
And who will determine the span
And who will cut the thread?
Knife in hand
Perry Smith
six mops
I catch mine and trap it for real
I don't diss ops bitch, what I got in store
Ain't at a gift shop
Y'all love to critique my raps
"I don't be
want deep leave 'em behind
Aiyo
1-2-3-4-5-6-7
Blaze the hot trizack
Shine like heaven
7-6-5-4-3-2-1
Come on Mr. Smith come get some
My
Bentley, 9th Prince will decease, made of Ginseng
Seen it? It's real, liver than chase Manhatten
Word on Staten I was clappin with the Captain
My style is
the real Slim Shady please stand up
Please stand up, please stand up?
Will Smith don't gotta cuss in his raps to sell records
Well, I do, so fuck him
the three time losers
Pour out some beer, bust out the ruger
Ladies and gentleman
Bullets will leave you tremblin'
Shooken up
I got my cuban mommy cooking up
and Kelsey ain't do it then that bitch shot herself (haha)
Think about it, any three of them might could be the shooter
Don't take what I say personal it's
wrong
Real ones done remain headstrong
ABC
And 1... 2... 3
The young do bleed
Don't be a copy cat rat
Come witcha own
Take it back
Send it home
It's
And are making some nice figures like a gym will do And like Sandra Bland, my band be changing lanes Without a signal at all, now you want us to hang? You
the Palladium, all eyes on my presence
Poppin the Crist', sportin the chick straight out of Essence
Word up, patch thug, three quarter front Polo jiggy
Be like
Brooklyn is me
Matter of fact, the East coast, fuck, took it from me
Fourth album still Jay still spittin' that real shit
Volume Three still sold more
the East coast fuck took it from me
Fourth album still Jay still spittin that real shit
Volume 3 still sold more records than Will Smith
Can't call this
Brooklyn is me
Matter of fact, the East coast, fuck, took it from me
Fourth album still Jay still spittin' that real shit
Volume Three still sold more
a nigga like Koop, a nutcase
And I can tell by the day it's gonna be a long night
When I take a swipe for your life, my big black butcher knife
Now I'm
an MC, who can't be the are-E-D
Fuck wit me, you'll get slapped up and capped up easy
By me and a tre-eight pistol, so vacate the premises
Or ask
- mindshift
Elevate your mental state the greater plan will be revealed
You might see
The answers right in front of you you need to learn to see
If
figured, son (yeah)
I don't think they hear you son (yeah)
Haha, drop a load on 'em
Now first but not least, you will respect Keith
Lay a nigga down
[INTERLUDE]
Yeah my guy na so e be, life hard, you understand
But we gatz push through
You no suppose let wetin people dey talk bring you down, understand
You
To do this, do this, do that'
That's real creative shit
And, when you're really not afraid
To be yourself, you're comfortable
It's like a web
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