Lyrics:
Do not ring the bell, there is nobody home
The spirits around will haunt you, do not ring the bell
There is nobody home
Apartment 223,(Scratch: I'm
niggas think you really got them guts
To walk up to his house, knock on his door
Let 'em feel the buckshots of a twelve gauge
Backed up by an A-K
'Fore
I’m running it back
Like Le’Veon Bell
Big dopes in the hall nigga
I was never ever saved by the bell
Backwards Nemo know I’m going to hell
Live my life
bells g's up asking for more
One Pint two pint three pint four
Gone to see his girl Stella
He'll be there till the morning
Been to Camden Hells and back
Bowzer
Mom, please put back the bell-bottom Brady Bunch trousers
But if you don't want to I can live with that, but
You gotta put back the double-knit
And power
And one of man's greatest superpowers
Is a gun
(1, 2, 3, 4)
Cuz bitch I am black
I got niggas that wait in the post for my drops like they Shaq
(I
a fashion show"
I said, "This isn't Sha Na Na, come on Mom, I'm not Bowzer
Mom, please put back the bell-bottom Brady Bunch trousers
But if you don't want
a fashion show"
I said, "This isn't Sha Na Na, come on Mom, I'm not Bowzer
Mom, please put back the bell-bottom Brady Bunch trousers
But if you don't want
Ringin the bell, heard a yell but wasn't sure
Dropped my luggage to the ground, put my ear to the door
Slow music, H-Town, no that's down low
My baby's,
went?
Ringin' the bell, heard a yell but wasn't sure
Dropped my luggage to the ground, put my ear to the door
Slow music, H-Town, no that's down low
a nigga gettin' gassed, puttin' ten on three
(Da Ruckus!) With the mic I blast men on sight
So off the hook Atlantic Bell had to go on strike
Doc did
a nigga gettin' gassed, puttin' ten on three
(Da Ruckus!) With the mic I blast men on sight
So off the hook Atlantic Bell had to go on strike
Doc did
He only think about lettin' his Mac spit
He like fuck who he hit me it bothers
Cause he know I'm rent 'em it regardless
If he keep wildin' out he's
He only think about lettin' his Mac spit
He like fuck who he hit me it bothers
Cause he know I'm with 'em it regardless
If he keep wildin' out he's
when I'm sippin' that Act
In the alley with two or three packs
Riding 'round, three or four straps
Baby come and fuck me perhaps
If you can't take it,
friends down
Until ya family up"
If I bring the fish by they cookin'
It's a fish fry
My friends make the fish fly but
They ain't playin' Candy Crush
I don't
than McFlurry machines
To get them likes UP...she gotta drop it down low
Big Mac’s holding stacks of that cheese to drown hoes
Throw that onion back
mac a baby hood rat remeber
way back then when it was 1985 all the way live i think
i was about 10 of those happy little niggas singing the blues that
B
is for the gun Triggers
The noise bringers
This is for the gun slingers
Bell ringers
The bootleggers
And every day bangers
And all my hood hustlers who
muthafuckin' house, in the cut, goin' for the green
Protected by the tec, nuts,
guts, and heart in the city where it's all death
In the hood where niggas can't
a way on which he could escape when drive bys were being pulled on the dot at 7:48 If you heard a gun shot than it was too late you'll hear the sound
na, come on Mom, I'm not Bowzer
Mom, please put back the bell-bottom Brady Bunch trousers
But if you don't want to I can live with that but
You gotta
Princess that's me, Ms. Princess Fuck you if you nasty
Need 411 son just ask me, I'm everywhere you want to be
Ring the Bell like Atlantic hard wired round
bitch the way I takeoff
I'll see you later alligator your boy stay fly aviator hater
The streets saved by the bell niggas call me Slater
It's a Sure
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