Lyrics:
Chyeah, Renegades is back, Em the beat is sick
It's Young, Freeway, Eight miles
Let's go
Eight miles and runnin', got my seventh album droppin'
in a blanket, stranglin'
Him, hangin' him over the railing by the ankles on some gangster shit
Child endangerment, dark brain arcane, but it Mark
Before i go id like to say a few things. this album was completed on january 15th 1991. By now the war has probably started and a whole bunch
Swimmin' in the money come and find me, Nemo
If I was at the club you know I balled, chemo
Dropped the mixtape, that shit sounded like an album
Who'd have
From the album fairytale
Now, it makes no difference what you do, I love you, babe.
Well, I need your lovin', I need it bad, oh deed I do.
Now, you
and replied, "Why yes
But I prefer the term African American Express"
Brains, power, and muscle, like Dame, Puffy, and Russell
Your boy back on his hustle,
before, in my little snapshot album.
The night was dark and the hour was late,
She was kissing her boy by the garden gate,
Wouldn't she love to see page
that's one for you and two for me by tonight
I'll be loaded like a freight train
Flyin' like an aeroplane
Feelin' like a space brain
One more time
a lil' game and get her to do brain
That boy Weezy is a bad mother-feezy
Me and Young Jazze at the back of One-Tweezy
I'm so breezy off the Velvie
straight for two months with a buzz
My brain's gone, my soul's worn, and my spirit is torn
The rest of my body's still bein' operated on
I'm ducked
straight for two months with a buzz
My brain's gone, my soul's worn, and my spirit is torn
The rest of my body's still bein' operated on
I'm ducked
that's one for you and two for me by tonight
I'll be loaded like a freight train
Flyin' like an aeroplane
Feelin' like a space brain
One more time
Some say money is bad for the soul
Bad for the rock, bad for the roll
Bad for the heart, bad for the brain
Bad for damn near everything
Oh yeah
you off
Broad, with the cause (yeah) bitch on a mission
Keep them niggas by they nuts while you hoes be dick kissin
Missing the game, damn bitch it's
gangsta, gangsta
To the rhythm
Gangsta, gangsta, gangsta
To the rhythm
Gangsta, gangsta, gangsta
Get on Patron, run grab by your phone
Get on Patron, run
thing
We did was "Who Are The Brain Police?
" and by the time we finished "Brain Police
" his head was going around like this, you
Know, and he says,
Written by Rickie's father, Richard Jones, as a lullaby for her
Live at the Wiltern Theatre (1992)
Don't feel bad
Because the sun went down
The night
This is Meth-Heads and Fruit Plates by Wyoming Deez
Stop now, this album will fucking suck
There is no need to listen to it
Please for your own sake
This is music to be murdered by
Got a premonition
I feel the end is near
The beauty starts to fade
My joy has turned to pain
I hear the symphony
for them all
And by the model of my vehicle you know that I ball
A 92 but 91 the year that Tyler was spawned
And if I crash in the woods then I'mma
a suburb to the brain?
You wear them so well, those innocent eyes
You're puttin' on a wonderful disguise
I want you so bad.
I'm pushing my luck
It
would go away
Start a day, bad hands make it hard to deal
Sometimes I wanna pull it, end it all with a bullet
Hard to live life to the fullest with
I think you need help
How many time on one album can you say you're def?
"I'm bad." Yo punk, save your breath
That's weak shit from a weak mind
would go away
Start a day, bad hands make it hard to deal
Sometimes I wanna pull it, end it all with a bullet
Hard to live life to the fullest with
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