Lyrics:
at how they try to make me
Look they try to make me look
Crazy and the people that write that? I
Don't see them performing for 90
000 motherfuckers … I
Id rather stay on my J-O and stack a bank roll
But if you real and you down and in public you don't clown holla at me ill be around
(mike Jones) but
you disown
Cruzin' through the ocean like I'm Piolet Jones
Got a new wifey, don't got no time for these hoes
Got no time for these hoes
Like I'm Piolet
Street life
They all hate me
Thats what the bag do
I did a lot for them niggas
And never got a thank you
If I tell you I love you
Then I meant that
But you keep pullin' me in it's like a magnet
How our souls gravitate I gots to have it
Can't control the feeling got a jones for you
Wait 'til I
They'll probably fight over me
Maimonides please what, can you tell me
I'm feeling like farina
Exotic dancers might have the best answers
But sorry girl,
His name is Howard, and how I miss him
If I ever had a troubled mind he took the time to listen
A most special friend, for so many years
To think
Full nike outfit no jack jones
I boost physical man I got a backbone
No police on the chase I want P's in the safe so I'm going out west for a bank
go down
[Jim Jones]
Straight out the projects be, I'm telling ya'll it was so hard for me (so hard)
Coming up hard in these Harlem streets, where
over my name
Don't make me grab you by the neck
And choke you til it's black
You lack realness and beg for
Attention on your tracks
Worms in and worms
back
Thanks for the loan"
And you know something is happening
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?
Now you see a one-eyed midget
Shouting
[Intro/Chorus fading in and out in background]
Ok, ok, (heeeyyyy) yeah
We back in this bitch (Lovely Daze like this...)
Jim Jones nigga (you
on Wall Street
When your index is low
Dow Jones ain't got time for the bums
They wind up on skid row with holes in their pockets
They plead with you
Street
When your index is low
Dow Jones ain't got time for the bums
They wind up on skid row with holes in their pockets
They plead with you, buddy can
on Wall Street
When your index is low
Dow Jones ain't got time for the bums
They wind up on skid row with holes in their pockets
They plead with you
mouth bass on the line, it's time for me to retrieve her
And go get her like a wide receiver, but we don't play no ball
See when it comes to you baby
fucked up
To um compare me to Jim Jones or uh Davey Koresh.
You know what I mean
Because those where not people that where for the greater good
You
a century
Verse 1 - Figuero Jones
I pick up the pack so can nobody send for me iʼm in the studio
I had an epiphany, fantasise about a room full of symphonies
Uh
Uh
Uh
Gucci Louis Fendi Prada Sace even Balmain
Terrance Howard money couldn't even buy you swag mayne
Holy with flow I been ordained
Smoking good
feeling alive, yeah
Ten out of ten, I know you down to ride, yeah
Always by my side, yeah
My baby, know I know had to hold you down for sure
You
at her
Damn I must admit it
So I'm like Tracy you fine
Let me take you for a ride
Let's go and just have a good time
She blushin and feeling my vibe
She
Give me the mic, I been gone for a minute
I stepped out the building
I'm back in this bitch and you know I'm gone kill it
That's just what I do
If
And places that I'd wanna see
And we don't need the sun
No we don't need the sun
We're young and getting drunk
Together
Listening to
Howard and Jones
In your
was by far the most deranged
People often ask me for stories about the man
And the one that sticks in my mind the most
Well, it goes a little something
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