Lyrics:
number for the souls under the heavens
Because I disrespected reverend confessions of my presence
Life lessons with a message, protracted by the most high
show some respect son, or get locked up in a casket
And get slapped like a couple of brat kids
And drop like acid till you hallucinate
And you're
conception
So show some respect, son
Or get locked up in a casket
And get slapped like a couple of brat kids
And drop like acid till you hallucinate
there, would've protected her
She survived it by herself, I respected her
We exchanged numbers, I started textin' her
That wasn't enough, naw, had
you will become a
Chorus x8
It's your own nigga Project Pat
I'm a G as in gorilla
all my life I want ot come clean
Why you flossin' all my dreams
see what's going on in the projects
Then I'ma shoot down to Atlanta
See how it's going down in the Dirty Dirty
Then I'ma shoot over to New Orleans,
the Jakes'll hit ya forty-one times
So I live by the sword and obey hood laws
Make my team click like high heels on wood floors
Let my niggas live
We show
wild, wild, wild (Emile, what up, nigga?)
Wild, wild, wild (Plain Pat, what up?)
Uh, stand up, put your arms to the ceiling, man
Show skin, baby
young chick, she so immature
She like, "Why you don't buy me Reeboks no more?"
Like to show out in public, throw tantrums on the floor
Gotta toss
(dog in the hood)
That can go to the projects (School Street, Home of the Brave)
By his fuckin' self and be good (good)
Yeah, nigga, ask niggas on my
I was too young to remember
Kansas City projects, I was like five six
And how come, I remember Malcolm, Isaac
And Boogy
If it was the projects in
the fifth
I read the fifth amendment
We both criminals with bad intentions
They say time heals all
But if I could shortcut
My success, Corvettes by tomorrow
here we go
Just give me my dough and do
The show then I'm outtie yo!
Runnin' in the back seat
Sippin' on the Guinness
Fuckin' with a MAC-10 ready to be
projects, wild rose water the plant
Son, you know what it is
From the moment that you come over the bridge
And if you don't ride with me
I'm gonna show
East coast grumpy hoes
And my west coast girl got her own condo
Got me 'bout to buy a
Crib by the Hollywood O, oh
It's - that nigga they be checkin' for
show on the autopsy
Went to see Papi, to cop me a brick
Asked for some consignment, he wasn't tryin to hear it
Smoking mad Newports cause I'm due in
weed
I feed off the hunger that a bum or abandoned child gets
Freaky, like Marv Albert, in outfits, by Chaka Givens
I lecture how I got God but don't
and niggaz with jobs on the side sell weed
I feed off the hunger that a bum or abandoned child gets
Freaky, like Marv Albert, in outfits, by Chaka Givens
I
you dissing
Feeling like a gangsta
Influenced by the music you listen
Mechanic
I could bring the tools to show what your tune up is missing
Certified
We
(16th Killer)
I was at the lugger club posting
Right off 85
Right there by Rock Legion Memorial Drive
I had a long week, now it's the weekend
Wake up, wake up, wake up
One, two, one, two
We dedicate this one to the hip-hop culture y'all
Brought to you by the world famous Wake Up Show
with the wide ass back
Tear the up saloon
Go project pat
Or you can catch me outside how bout that
Make your girl have a Asthma attack
Take her breath
Project Pat don't give a fuck
Give a fuck
Give a fuck, hah, hey!
Yah
Tsukiko 18
Это моё интро
Это моё что?
Это моё интро
Это моё что?
Это моё интро
the thoughts of where they would toss me
My cousin pat paid a price I prayed for him often
Money over bitches the script I never veered off it
Even through loss
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