Lyrics:
Mike T
Fuck is you talking about
You not in love with me now
You ain't been holding me down
I never counted me out
finger
Wrist to my bling, yeah, my fever is king, yeah
I'm telling you where we bring it
I type by A-K-S-K
I type by centing, yeah
Yeah, yeah, me boy dem
tax
(Yeah)
Tryna bring me down, might be your last move
Some like ruffle chip I been inna groove
The phone on D&D, I ain't in the mood
I got God by my
it back to me, Yeah
I'm gone love on you
I'm gone trust with you
I do not want them
All I want is you
So Baby bring, bring it back to me
Bring, bring
negative feedback
Naysayers can hate we concentrate to bring belief back
Into ourselves into the world into the rap game
Emcees are miserable that means
negative feedback
Naysayers can hate we concentrate to bring belief back
Into ourselves into the world into the rap game
Emcees are miserable that means
Like a screen pass
The straps hang off of the arm
Like it's a lean bag and I can box
This right hand'll lean Cass'
I take him back to the early 2000's
to roll
Left eye look through your soul
I'm blinded by love while I'm winking at you
I'm thinking out loud so you know I'm always thinking 'bout you
From the beginning to the end
Yea
And if you like it bring it back
Uhh
This music ain't for the weak
Yo ass def you try to tell me this is wack
Now turn
word to the mutha
{Get back} Bringin' it right back where we started from
{Get right back} And send our word to the mutha
{Get back} We got to bring
some love back to those that loved me
206 Court street and my second mom Tracy
Little Keesha and Cole
My mellow blow, and my homegirl Flo
Rock
natural
So she tells Mike she'll pass by after school
Mike's house is nice just like she imagined
On the porch that's Nanna, a little old-fashioned
Nanna
damage to any man you bring
I'm serious, I told you that way back in '94
They want to flow, it ain't no thing, just let the record go
Didn't you know I
You can't speed through
Two miles per hour
So everybody sees you
Ridin by myself
With the pistol in the do
Sipping sipping on lean
Sipping sipping on bo
Huh
What
Smoke somethin', bitch
Smoke somethin'
I'm up early 'cause my nigga don't sell dope after nighttime
Love choppin' blades, rollin'
away and let him be
He?s got a shotgun so go back home (Who? Who?)
Cause you?ll never get Mr. Jones (Mike Jones)
[Verse 2]
I used to get dissed by
I was sticking love by your side
Risin' up, risin' up
Chasing a tongue by your side
Risin' up, risin' up
Slamming down a toe
Trying to forget my
ass niggas man
Bring they hat to they motherfucking ass man
Let these hoes know how we do it down here
[Chorus: x2]
(Down here) ha we like to roll
Ohhh yah
Move outta way
I need to get it all by the way
Ohhh yah
Move outta way
They gonna keep on hating by the way
Ohhh yah
Better days are coming
ain't on nothing
fuck around and wack my cousin
I knock bitches by the dozen
Baby Im just tryna fuck Mclovin
Milwaukee Bucks I need cash in my stuffin
Ridin' so low it's like I'm tryin' to hide
Candy paint drip like it's raining outside
I pull up outside
Ridin' solo but with Bonnie and Clyde
Ridin'
to the beat
Or better yet won't you lay on yo back
But you need to stop teasin' me
By squeezin' me and just let my finger get to workin' with that
You know
I've got are heaven sent
The love of God is sweet like cinnamon
And if he's missing God, I've got to bring him in
Yahweh, Jireh, he's my medicine
hustlin' wrong
You niggaz got your grind wrong, mayne
I gotta watch you hoe-ass niggaz
It's time for the teacher
To sit back in the front of the class,
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