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Search results for 'she aint got the beat by the blasters' Page #5
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I heard she got that gushy I heard she got that gushy I heard she got that gushy I heard she got that gushy I heard she got that gushy I heard she
on that tip about stoppin' the violence About my people she was teachin' me By not preachin' to me but speakin' to me In a method that was leisurely, so
on that tip about stoppin' the violence About my people she was teachin' me By not preachin' to me but speakin' to me In a method that was leisurely, so
[Verse 1] You a fucking capper I'm a rapper Comin' in with the blaster Stabbing cappers with my dagger Then I watch them stagger In the kitchen
havoc make em scream So dramatic they make scenes Let em have it eat the beam Got the swagger call me sheen Like a magnet to the beat When i'm on it they
talk about, A million things That sparked between us All you wanna talk about Don’t make sense baby I ain’t tryna hear it I don’t got the time when I’m
the Dude On the way to the telly, we was bumpin' R. Kelly And right before I cut her, it was confessions from Usher She ain't used to a thug, she love
but when we fuck We got smoke now (we got smoke) She ain't 'bout to cheat She gon' wait 'til I come home, uh ('til I come home) And I'm gon' beat
done, there are more beats snupe We got millions of people listening to us We ain't done 'Acapella' Looked it's time for me to keep it real Where y'all
Why my b**** cheating on me What the f*** I do to her I ain't did nothing n**** Why she wanna play with me My feelings done got involved Nah
bitches to "come to my hotel" to livin' in one Man I ain't never backed down from shit I got heart you know The 40? Not an opening act When it start to show
Let me smoke a blunt right now and get in my zone Akademiks said Freddie Gibbs got beat up by Jim Jones (word) I'm not a big fan of his the streets
the least paid but I made the grade 'Cause this ain't a slave sale and I ain't the same stale Rapper, no, I'm not a phony microphonist wit no blaster No
ain't a slave sale and I ain't the same stale Rapper, no, i'm not a phony microphonist wit no blaster No type of real appeal or real - talent And it makes
the sink Everybody knows that I love usna She let me beat it like a pinata The pussy juice come like a pina colada She likes plantain and yam and cassava
Hearts which beat To a precise beat Painting shadows on the wall Well, we cut our cars and fly by bars All for one and one for all Like
bullshit is goin' down (Mustard on the beat, ho) You ain't never 'fraid to be by yourself You ain't never 'fraid to be by yourself Say you ain't afraid
comin through got paper gotta have it Under my damn bed And Im flippin red If I get caught with keys I goin fed But that ain't on my mind No Im not
things ain't right on the home front What she really needs is a G like me to Beat a beat, beat it, beat it Baby, I got things that I wanna say Won't
hard, I can tell that things ain't right on the home front What she really needs is a G like me to Beat a beat, beat it, beat it Baby, I got things
ain't with me We just laugh cause she with you Like haha haha that's yo bitch I just got a beat from Jay whitt I'm getting rich Your bitch she hate
loved her, it wasn't a front I was down by 9 she ain't want me to punt So a nigga up and left then fucked me a bunch Bend her over on the bed I gotta grab
now) I got your baby on the way Now these hoes run gun I Ain't finna say nothing She tried to pop my pockets Before I even got paid Don't trip, this
skin Fenty, she rock Dior I bareback the bitch, I hit her raw Bone that bitch, yeah Yeah, she bark like a dog Like all flavours, got different colour
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