Lyrics:
shit
This that category 5, this that quake, bitch
See I'm so funked out, like out of here
Like blue lights in the basement
And it's a red state, in
a Harley (oh shit)
I'm just tryna to smoke a blunt, no Bacardi
Doin' a buck eighty in my new 'Rari (vroom)
Roll up, spark up, like I'm Bob Marley
Get high
a player house
Roll thirty fatties, then I let 'em all air out
Come over here
Coming
What is it?
That car, look
What about it? Never seen it before
in for me
Tell them roll out the red carpet
I ain't showing up for free
If they sleep let them sleep
More money for me
Life's is too short
Here's one
to do
But now it's time that I leave
I pull my magic carpet down out my sleeve
I'm gonna climb aboard, I'm gonna fly away
Back to Bagdhad, that's
The afterparty starts when we roll up at the door
Step out watching the red-carpet roll
Whoa-oo just a small town superstar
Just a small town, it's a map dot
on
Let the cries out
Wave a whole chicken by his
Legs near the crotch smells
Sweating bullets in the tip
Blow torching his flesh
I seen his face melt
Drip
and territory issues
By any means necessary, so in your chest I bury two buck shots
so who got six niggaz next to carry
off these wanna be's, niggas they
it's blowin' out the window
And if I got it, I'ma roll it by you every time
And everybody's gonna be like "could you show me?"
With all these
it's blowin out the window
And if I got it, I'ma roll it by you every time
And everybody's gonna be like "could you show me?"
With all these
I roll
I never gave a damn, my juice gonna slam
I'm at I.H.O.P. eaten some breakfast and some yams
My partner Scott chilling at the motherfucking crib
I roll
I never gave a damn, my juice gonna slam
I'm at I.H.O.P. eaten some breakfast and some yams
My partner Scott chilling at the motherfucking crib
Roll out the red carpet, come through hay
Woman I got nothing but love for you girl
Anh han anh han anh, mad tough love I got
Anh han anh han anh, mad
'n roll
I never gave a damn, my juice gonna slam
I'm at I.H.o.p. Eatin some breakfast and some yams
My partna Scott chillin at the mutha fuckin crib
the girls are gonna be there
Sipping wormwood concoctions
Drinking absinthe and talking trash
It's a red carpet, black tie
All night, celestial bash
Comin out the 3, cuttin hairs with that boy J-o-e
Yeah that nigga Joe
I done came through, Big Moe never been no hoe
I'm up on this tape, never gonna hate
she doesn't hear rock and roll
Eats out every night, she loves French cuisine
Wears the biggest gems that you've ever seen
But she's gonna cry if she
is, nigga. Here it is. What you
gonna do with it?
Bizzy:
Well it must be close to the Armageddon, Lord. No, then I won't fly by
that lesson, you
at the roundtable, and discuss
Trish ish batteries and territory issues.
By any means necessary, so in your chest I bury two buck shots.
So who got six niggas
back and pull strings
Yeah yeah
Used to have that fuckin' title by name
Yeah yeah now that's nothin' but some
Fire to my flame, Yeah yeah
You ain't
head. You can beg, you go fled
But still gonna bleed bloody red
Fuck with mine, we'll be seen in the moonlight
'Cause we out riding, looking for you
head. You can beg, you go fled
But still gonna bleed bloody red
Fuck with mine, we'll be seen in the moonlight
'Cause we out riding, looking for you
head. You can beg, you go fled
But still gonna bleed bloody red
Fuck with mine, we'll be seen in the moonlight
'Cause we out riding, looking for you
here flossin', Big Willies, we Willie Lynch 'em
Pull out the chopper, rappers hittin' the ground
Like every bar is a bullet, when I pull it, it sound
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