Lyrics:
been feeling like Marilyn
Her spirit within me
From the same motherfucking city
Van Nuys been fucking with Sticky
Just like them titties
Bouncing on top
gangsters
That ain't made it back
We took gambles
To put my city on the map
Was in shambles
I seen my nigga laid flat
But I'm thankful I'm still here
Thank
This is my time, this is my moment This my shot, this one goes in
Still on top, ain't lost focus Tryna drive around the city lookin' pretty in
I'm a ninth brigade cook
And if you don't know a diet of corn beef and sand, slip a two bob in an old digger's hand
There was a time when I married
of Jack the Ripper," what? Nigga please
I'ma push you further back than your hairline recedes
New York City, don't get it confused
Your song
*lyrics written by Bob Geldof
*music arranged by The Boomtown Rats
Bobby's goin Digital
Hoverin the city inside the Wonder Woman's invisible jet
Clouded by the Meth we move undetected
in secret society sects,
can't tell
But still, you gotta be careful
Dudes be so scared they cop pleas by the earful
V personally favors, "please don't kill me"
Empty out
Yeah, yeah
You know how me and 'Ye do, huh, yeah
Real people walk in the streets, the streets is talkin'
Often it's beef this city never does
Yeah, yeah
You know how me and 'Ye do, huh, yeah
Real people walk in the streets, the streets is talkin'
Often it's beef this city never does
This shit is wicked
I can’t play by the rules
Been one step ahead
I guess that you ain’t hear the news
I gottah get it
Ain’t no stopping how I
How you niggas tryna play it ?,
Did this on my own ain’t have to ask no man for bread,
Pull up by that regions now I’m caught up with the feds,
on the block where the fiends got cooked
Cops on the watch ... some got knocked
Some turned snitch but most got shook
Either way it's hustle by any means for pay
tunnel by night
to places of safety
We'll make a video call
when ceilings are falling
Paris still in India
Narendra fixed it for me
All alone, we have
round, my city streets hot, no need for a coat no more...
Black 4.5th Underneath when they got it on, if you try them it's on
Best believe they blasting
WEAPONS
SELLING BLOW, I'M FROM BALTIMORE
I walk the streets that all I see, ain't no hope no more
All year round, my city streets hot, no need for a coat no
ain't no seaport, but the city's full of Whalers
Roll Bob's, printer-paper bams, or freak a black, inhale it
Add the suburbs brushing shoulders, see
never get got
glue to the gift so what's up dread
you couldn't bob to the bass but now you're hooked like a bass head
I'm about to show ya contract
she rather have a purse?
Why give a bitch an inch
When she'd rather have nine?
You know how the game goes
She be mine by half time, I'm the shit,
I'm dodgin' the barcols like pot holes in Jamaica
We cut down the weed, bury the paper on the makers
Martin had a dream, Bob got high
I still do both
you go, do you think it's pretty?
He goes, "Don't be so cocky
I'm just doin' my job"
Well, your job's fucked up
Don't say you're sorry 'bout it, Bob
break I don't wanna give it to you
We met on Monday by Friday we taking trips to the moon
Baby don't lie up in my face can you just tell me the truth
I
of Jack the Ripper," what? Nigga please
I'ma push you further back than your hairline recedes
New York City, don't get it confused
Your song
hairline recedes
New York City, don't get it confused
Your song will last as long as your part in "Krush Groove"
Body moves, the battles, bullets,
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