Lyrics:
lyrical rifle pull up like it's Bird Season
Brrp bap bap drop a grung Like Bird feedin
Who mi a talk every deejay inna the world heed this
Mi come fi tief
niggas, what's up though)
If you scared, get the fuck out the club, nigga (bia', bia')
Bia', bia' (get 'em up)
Why you actin' like a (push 'em off,
Arnold Palmers
IG models, Mass Appeal
Get ripped by critics or cash, no interest
I want my money, fuck fame, for real
It's Raf, bitch
Fuck a white boot
through SC
Just walk on by, nigga, just walk on by
Before you fuck up my high
Before you fuck up my high
Before you fuck up my high
If you see me in
you know we going hard like the Celtics
Round one comeback, and by round two we clap that
Shawty tries to hit me up, block that hoe!
Just like Robert
beautiful witnessing karma
My head was the ball on the tee and he was lining up a swing like Arnold Palmer
It was then that I knew that I wouldn’t get
me tell him he can meet my nine
Money tall like Lannister's your stack short like Tyrion
Pull up in that space coupe lookin like Valerian
Buy it by
the hatas
Just get off the caper for the case and the gator
Now I stacked up and sacked up in the back to the block
With eight bars to the heart
To asert it I
Keep it swingin'
Why you trippin'
Hey we brothers
I'm like why you sniffin'
I got a snort headed motherfuckers!!
Niggas up to addict
But all you
Words and music by John Kay, Michael Palmer and Steve Palmer
Say the word if you need work done
Pick up the phone darlin', dial a prayer
You can
It was always me versus the world
Until I found it's me versus me
Why, why, why, why?
Why, why, why, why?
Just remember what happens on earth
(Let me get that, fuck nigga)
(Let me get that, ayy)
Hit up my connect, I need a six pack
(Gimmie that six pack, boy)
(I need a six pack, bro)
When I got
Yeah yeah
Yeah yeah
Yeah yeah
Yeah yeah
Yeah yeah
Don't speak of... What I've done
Get my heart out of the way... Why don't you stay?
Don't speak
Switchin' lanes up in this V like this
Got catch, why I just seen him send him up
Mix him up with Vel up in his pack
Say he gon' crash, we get on ass
Now he
Now your song getting played
Everyday and shit
So you gassed up, but I still eat your ass up
You turned into a fag to get your cash up
But, I'd rather
I want to dedicate this one to Robert 'Yummy' Sanderford
And all other lil' young niggas that's in a rush to be gangstas
As a young nigga, I'm
a demon
Man I stalked up racks on racks yeah
Feeling like Robert freeman
Man I want that Gucci belt
I bring da heat boy watch you melt
I remember I was
The other one can win it
If one of us can’t prove it
Then the other one can diss him
If one of us is stupid
Then its you because the truth is made up by
Pre>thanks to robert watson robert@gcmac.demon.co.uk
For a complete revision of this chart.
Robert's chart has the em over the word "treatment"...
I
is
Her specialty, after all hands come up
One by one "Oh my god, Rihmeek, "
Nicki groans exaggeratedly, invoking Meek's
Middle name for effect "Every
drive by ina di tint up
To di bwoy face di ball ah fire
One ah dem ah try run
Yuh wah buy a sprint out?
Mek di fire from di bryco iron him shirt
Him
Get him, get him
Better dead it, you'll never get me
Shoutout Dedo, Audiomonkey, man like sage, bird'96
Got more trophies to my hit list cause y
up)
'Cause I'm apart of greatness (hey)
And I never let the haters get to me (no way)
Used to kick it with Keke Palmer (oh no)
I would go to Akon house
get one shot
Nobody shows up for the sequel
I'm listening to the preacher on
Sunday
I done partied all weekend
Sucks like some leaches
Shootin by myself
.jpg/229px-Robert-Palmer-Sunset-Strip-(edit).jpg "Robert Palmer")
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