Lyrics:
quicker than with tyres by Michelin
Heart beat quickening
Full tote technique, no half assed lyricing
Paint the town red til the bar staff sick of him,
there's so many L-R-P's
Lone Range Pimpin' jumpin' up on this track man you underdig?
We spit these L-R-P's and we do this damn thing, real tough like
They took yo' bitch
And they rubbed on her clit
That bitch sloppy no spit on the bed, yeah
Kids all in her mouth
So I kicked the bitch out
Then they
yo lil trophy
I'm dying girl i am so lonely
You can be my one my one only
Everything you do so holy
I wanna take this shit slowly
So i'm guarding my
Marshall Mathers, artist magnets
I'll snatch you bitch ass thoughtless faggots
Then have your garbage asses on my tracks
So I could blast you for target
peeped the signs now
(Yea)
All the homies like damn you late it's bout time
Ow
Hurts to track the timeline of yo loss
Hurts to think that I'm still fucking
Get marked on your chest like an X-men
Get two sauced
So screw off
I'm the beast without the blue balls
And I will feast on your crew
If they wanna beef
up the sticky
Not that barnyard hay
We just getting to the money
Then get on our way
Yep, 3 whips back to back
Followed by a Cadillac
Trucks, sluts
were dazed
I was in the zone, coulda thrown up them tre's
And if you lost, Lil' Jon's got some Eastside ways
So stop actin' like a Bia if yo ass ain't
(Young Dreadz'll get you high)
I got the over the shoulder look pat down
Ah me that the boy wan' track down (ay)
Whole squad pulled up so they
And so, my fellow Americans
Ask not, "What your country can do for you?"
Ask what you can do for your country?"
And now, back to New York
Hard
And so, my fellow Americans
Ask not, "What your country can do for you?"
Ask what you can do for your country?"
And now, back to New York
Hard
O.G.
I'm not like anyone else, so don't you think up or make suggestions
"He rap like so-and-so" aiyyo yo know that's out of the question
Plus it don't
'Cause I'm puttin' lead in yo' motherfuckin' ass
Here I come, I'm outta jail, fresh in the air
Nigga need a come up, so nigga didn't care
So let me
boy MaRz on this track just for fun
Watching for opps so I ride by with a stick
Yea got em sneezing and coughing, you think that he sick
Aye bitch stop
and the blessings be all night!
Said I'ma be alright yo I'll never need to fight like
Riding through the beat, so sick, so sick with it
Moving through the streets
of the studio workin' on tracks but I knew that you would be okay
So I ain't trippin
I promise I miss it
I ain't talkin yo body I'm talkin yo kisses
But that's
to get it
I got what you want boy, I got what you want
No you never going to get it, so you might as well forget it
Yo ninja innie moederfokken huisie
not Tito
Have a couple babies, now let her get up
If we prayed and respected by big and the little
Riddle by the stock exchange rockgame
Get
Eyo man lets hop on this real quick
Man its hogan
I didn't even close my window
Hop on this track real quick hee
She coming over by want some dick
yall
How i really spit ill go so hard ill make you
Sick than fuck all your mothers im
A brick but it feels
Like im being sorrounded by a
Bunch of pricks
Word to the brothers checking with their P.O
I be making music you can feel
Give it all for free though
Till it lays chips like Fritos
So sick of love
buddhists?
Heather be , three hundred sixty degrees, level move this
My audio shells is my surface and my third eye covered by mucus
Oh, so there's
too slow
And I'm so sick of these love songs, I wrote it like Ne-Yo
เราถามตัวเองว่า if I had to really die today
Would I make the same decisions when
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