Lyrics:
ones with antlers
Word to Milwaukee (ballaz), imma mill walking (dollaz)
Herd like Wisconsin (holla), imma mill walking
Raw passion, spitting like God
need to slay vamps
We survivors in the field and I use garlic as a shield
I feel like bread, man
Base camp
With my twin, we leveled up
You're still
and tumbo juice
And tarantula toupee
Canopy going HAM over camp in a feuding biome
Os Mutantes row-row-rowing the wrong
Way into the diode
Fry the banana,
black negus got a purpose yaa
Trying to make a difference and put my dayones in position
We working ain’t no days off in this camp nah
Havin visions
Days and days and years have gone now
It's crystal clear
We've gotten older
But how do we remember the nostalgia as it used to be
When we were seventeen
all Ina day
Black Pan White wid a fila play
If anuh money a eh talk Den get away.
Cause mi wild and stay a way
One mill a chump change bring a bigger
[DJ Paul]
HCP Hypnotize Camp Posse bitch and it's still on hoe
[(Chorus 1) 2x]
North North North North North Mafia
[Chorus 2]
When you fuck wit
Mississippi.
Flew all day then drove an ol' two-lane.
Red tin roofs and junk yards lined the dusty way,
And an ancient mill town spoke of better days
day ima get em
I want the rollie Versace and Fendi and putting them all in my drawer
I got the band in the camp on a lamb and they see me in it they gon
test drove the lamb
I'm a cop it in a minute
30 days no spending
Camp niggas still winning
Bitch
I'm sick of this shit
Can't live like this
I gotta work
closer to hell
Over land
They pass God's bluff and cross the basin
Half by sea
They follow the coast and through the gate where
Gold is coated
porous, the force urge forth, the surf warm
And the storm that served above it assumed the same course
Now as the rain poured waters the basin tore its
tadpoles
But hoes line up to me like Black Friday camp boats
Lyrics on the pad you hear it and get sad
And I'm selling my image like a stripper without a dad
Welcome to my house party party
Welcome to my house party party
Meet us at the bunny ranch, you know where the honeys camp
Meek Milly, Young Chris, you
I got sick shoes
Yuh
Moving ahead with all of my concentration
But you got me rolling in my craven
My heart deep down you drowning in the basin
Don't
barkin hard with the hitters and them camps
First 50 in the Town with the racing stripes
Smokin it up like them dopefiends basin pipes
Niggas know I got
you been at? Your raps is a lie
I'm all real, the one, the raw deal
Do tour, come home, do a flick for four mill'
What the hardcore heads
the raw deal
Do tour, come home, do a flick for four mill'
What the hardcore heads on the block would call ill
Never catch me at the ball-out spot with
Get out the kitchen
Cookin' in this mother fucker right now
Crack a crustacean
Garlic butter and shallots in the basin
Weak line, cook serve Olive
Welcome to my house party party
Welcome to my house party party
Meet us at the bunny ranch, you know where the honeys camp
Meek Milly, Young Chris, you
Even at a young age knew that one day
Would walk her down the isle with the family and wave
Four days later three nights and now the camp was over
Never
a mistake now you must be erased
Really though, I'm loc'ed, go, deranged, sick and insane
Drop rights, to start more fights than Mills Lane
[Chorus:
Fuckers are just so entitled now a days
When they need a favor
Shawty start calling me daddy
So I sent her off in a cradle
Green gives me gains
Like
niggas, so the Ruck just laugh at niggas
My mind ills off rhyme skills and nine mills
So I'll drill styles that keep the mine filled
Blunts get smoked
.jpg/292px-Sidney_Bechet,_Freddie_Moore,_Lloyd_Phillips_(Gottlieb_00521).jpg "Sidney Bechet & the Chamber Music Society of Lower Basin Street")
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