Lyrics:
by the rules (what?)
Leave his ass in a pool (damn), of his own damn blood
It's the type of shit that don't make the news (boom, boom)
See, now you
New Things
From the jump I've been grinding
I can do things
Working 9 to 5
Yeah I get mood swings
It don't matter cause my team and I get new
this shit is based on Consumerism Giuseppe's Gucci, Luey, Christian, Givenchy, Rocks, and True Religion Michael Kors, Tom Ford
Jordan's new edition
glasses i suffer from ADHD
I should win a fucking award for being me
Beat banging the tom-toms
My producer selection is fresh nigga
Fuck Vons ace
decision paper wins awards
See me, hear me
Welcome to brooklyn, new york city 11206
Roosevelt projects, wild rose water the plant
Son you know what it is
do the math, we the culture
And I gotta ask of you, what have you brought?
Look, this edible done made me an astronaut
I try to watch to the news
[Verse 1: Tom Niland]
Fearing I might die soon, all of a sudden
Crows from the other side, coming in dozens
Future undecided, fearing it, Who
and if not Tom
She deffo' took dick from Harry
I got 3 shots waiting on me, Tom
Dick and Harry i'll link Thomas in his yard
But D and H in the alley
Niggas
it spin
I'm from the city where they
Sold out the residents
Larenz Tate
Face paint
Dead presidents
James Brown
Arsenio in the trunk
Jimi wit the semi
on
KID from the old school
88 fade
Press PLAY
I live by the old rules
Like the old school eses
Boyle Heights
PRIMO
Orale!
Big Luis
RIP OG Jose Solis
One
what ya please (hey)
The lap of luxury is what you'll be laying in just respect
The playa and the game that hes playing in (for real)
I can show
never cooks
no time write my book
and in the end I ain’t got nothin’ at all
Time Waits For No One
a year goes by in the wink of an eye
Time Waits For No
watchin' him
He taught me right from wrong
What he didn't know or couldn't teach
I got it from the songs
I heard Jones and Cash in that old red truck
Every
you ain't bustin' fire, holmes, I'm tradin' yo' ass like Jerry Jones (well, damn)
Gone on and run along, run by myself, I come alone (go)
Drop my
Key is what they call her
She's a Chi town baller, checking cheese from new orleans
Then she ship it down to her folks uptown in Harlem
When my
you a ring
like my name's Tom Brady
I’ll pass you the rock
A long way from the bar down the block
I used to see you while you're working we’d make
DJ Clue
Desert Storm (Tay Keith, fuck these niggas up)
Vegas Jones
Roc Nation
The new generation
Let's go
The Roc Boys in the buildin'
ya
I got PTSD from the killin's of these beats
I'm a veteran
I came in the game like a soldier
I could sun you like Barbosa
Me and Nash playin' soccer
thing smokin'
Shit, I recognize that whip
Didn't he do a drive-by on the strip?
Got caught, couldn't do five so he snitched?
What type of guy's
calone
Fuck that nigga, he a clone
Millionaire from my microphone
What you know bout gettin drugs cross country
Nigga, your Pees big
But your diamonds look
da dang"
Then it all got it started for me, man
Yo, man I'm just getting back from the tour, man
What it be like, man?
Yo, bust it, turn me up
all ages
Ha-Hallelujah I'm the Hollygrove 2Pac
Roc-a-fella new rock hundred K in a shoebox
AK and a new Glock, a-what-baba-lou-bop
Pray the vest you
talkin' about real estate in Compton
With a loan from General Mills
I would start a new NBA team Baldwin Hills
The Baldwin Hills Spacemen
Lime green
Escobar, or love Nasir Jones?
Let me know so I could cop her the stones
What's clear to me, it's sincerity
Somebody I could call my own, yeah
All I need
.jpg/300px-Pussycat_Dolls_(cropped).jpg "The Pussycat Dolls")
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