Lyrics:
TEC-9 is the life of the party
Making moves after killing fools
Doing drive bys my brand new Ferrari
Nigga know I'll pull up with that pistol
Have you
never told a crime
Cause if you touch mine, that nigga dying
When I see the tears, I get traumatized
Remember the nights my mama cried
Carl Thomas with
to the mainstream motherfuckers
I could rob them for their jewels but nah
I ain't greedy, they'll need a stool to get to my height
Some of my friends thought I was
They'll trick you smooth up out it
I ain't never ever rob
Never stood out on the block
Never sat inside a can
Never beat up by the cops
I ain't never sold
that last album from Harlow
I am never gonna do what they telling me
I been keeping it on Cruz like Penelope
I have always been this smooth like Santana
And a star in the sky like space jam
Off man dealing off logic
Dealing with the gossip all off topic
Got Kings, on the grind, with Queens, by the side, like
the smooth criminal
I hit the cliches on the subliminal
With the soul technician to
Fill the prescription
In addition listen close to the mission
The PETEROCK,
killed by Draco
Ready to Shaq attack em
NBA jam em with the blamma
These Niggaz faker than Santa
With bandanas just like Santana
You Only tell half
I'm from Santana block Crip, so it's gon' do with it
It wasn't even a cool phrase before my man died
Yeah, nigga, huh
I risked my life for this shit,
test drive
I was around when you was clubbin with your fake I,
D’z pull me over trynna find shit with they K9
Sad circumstances that we live by
In
be out tomorrow
Cause I'ma brother thats legit
Too smooth for the world and law can't mess
with known for pushin much though wanted by america
for
won't let go of a flow smooth suavacito
And to you rappers who say I can't rap
I'm passin you up with the quickness
Cause you're on my shitlist
You see I
the entire story
But let me finish what happened that night
I was chilling with Frank Thomas the baseball player
You know the the one that played for
it by my lonely now I'm the big homie
But I'm his royal slickness, ghetto weakness, come Rick is
The one who expose cornball rappers with
I guess i need to make a point, suddenly
Like i'm not trying to be...
A positive influence to everybody that fucks with me
I guess it doesn't sound
Mendocino County thought I saw Thomas Pinchen at the end of the bar
But that's just Rob Brezsny writing his real astrology column
Headed up the coast with
is gettin hard
And it's odd, for a G to get a job
so I'd rather steal and rob, and mob with my squad
My homie used to bang, now we follow
it by my lonely now I'm the big homie
But I'm his royal slickness, ghetto weakness, come Rick is
The one who expose cornball rappers with
Ro
Now on with the show
(It's Tha Liks baby)
(It's Tha Liks baby)
One two, one two
I got a tape in my ride, made by Homicide
Ralph M
My life flow like awa
Seen the sweet taste like sour
Seen the minute turn whole hour
Ojala Jala
Baba with the most power
What they want me to be I'm
Sticky hippo
Gotta get a grip though
Lack of suction
Is your major malfunction
You got pizzazz
You got gumption
You're like smooth jazz
At a punk
Rob steals from cash machines
Tom's hooked-on diazepine
Bill bounces by the ounce
Will he make it to pay day?
Kyle's glued to TV screens
Mason scores
my fitted cap twisted back, in the lac drop
Theres some chick i mack, in the back givin that top
I'm a smooth mothafucka, with Killa rap props
The kid
is gettin hard
And it's odd, for a G to get a job
so I'd rather steal and rob, and mob with my squad
My homie used to bang, now we follow
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