Lyrics:
to the top, I put these boots on your knuckles
Walk into the party like a mob, wearin jet black
"Swass" skin in effect, sportin coon hat
Walk by sucker punk,
you not gonna show face after that stunt
At rap's only awards and you ain't show up
You scared and you butt, you are now being crushed
By these black
(Yeah)
Might make my side woah cop me a Range
And put it up for my bitch, she got the best brain
Pull up by myself, Miss Pearly don't need no army, bitch
are made of
There's nothin' you can't do (yeah) (okay)
Now you're in New York (ah-ha, ah-ha, ah-ha) (uh, yeah)
These streets will make you feel brand
bare the scars on my arms that prove everything I've been thru
In these old boots
And I've fell from grace I've made mistakes
I've tried to take my life
no one seeing me rhyming
Fuck quarantine, I'm outside
I'm a morbid beast on the mic
These are more than schemes that I'm writing
It's for the fiends
we make this shit look cool
They played it by the book, I always played it by my rules
Yeah, searchin' for an answer they can't get a clue
Yeah,
in
Can't work too hard to get my money
I refuse to
Slave for the next man a raise nigga fuck you
These streets are nine to five
You want it we can
been ready for war we are
The motherfuckers on the street with the heat
Knockin' them hoes off they feet
Say boy it's a jungle out there
Get a couple
peace a real warrior
Nigga been ready for war we are
The motherfuckers on the street with the heat
Knockin' them hoes off they feet
Say boy it's
catch the dinner bell.
Chorus:
Well these boots were made for walkin.
I'm running up to pass.
You motormouth's keep talkin.
You're running out of gas.
trip a referee (come on)
Tell by my attitude that I'm most definitely from (come on, come on)
In New York
Concrete jungle where dreams are made
phone is on Motorola prepaid
Diadora or a gold Ellesses
These are ordered from the older East Bays
She either rollin' with the owners or the lessees
hyphen in mar-juh-rene
Could be used for erotic gratification
By a very desperate stenographer
'M-A-R, ' hyphen, 'J' 'J'
Wha What's a 'J' tonight, uh
'J'
killer
But these niggas made me like this
Now they all afraid of they own invention
I walk with a limp 'cause this AR will not allow me to walk straight
I
impossible to find
The walls are closing in, I'm suffocating fast
Can't outlast these shadows, that relentlessly last
Step By Step, I'll break down the walls,
Your wanderin' eye got everybody talkin'
You're gonna see these boots are made for walkin'
If you don't want my love, if you don't want my love
Your
like a rocket (rocket)
They just can't stop me, I'm ballin' (ballin')
I'm gettin' paid just from talkin' (talkin')
Rick Owen boots when I'm walkin
goin' by the end of the night
But a highway'll save a couple minutes we can spend on the side
Yeah, I bet these boots are made for walkin'
Baby, mine
promises
I'll prolly die walkin' back home from the candy house
I'll prolly die 'cause these colors are standin' out
I'll prolly die because I ain't know
promises
I'll prolly die walkin' back home from the candy house
I'll prolly die 'cause these colors are standin' out
I'll prolly die because I ain't know
James DeBarge]
Ev'ryday I gotta watch these suckas roll by, keep an eye on they
Started spotted (?) I don't know why
Turned my back on an awesome party,
are made of
There's nothin' you can't do (yeah) (okay)
Now you're in New York (ah-ha, ah-ha, ah-ha) (uh, yeah)
These streets will make you feel brand
all down for stickin' but I can't kick it with ya
So what's poppin', you walkin', or the boots knockin'
Yeah I hear you talking girl, but I'm only down
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