Lyrics:
or MTV or Joan Rivers Fashion Police
Not what you read in tabloid seats
These are MC's that live by the code, it's hard for me to spit it
Because
in a day (Work)
Quarter platinum plaques in the hallway (Money)
Not Frank Sinatra but I did it my way (Mine)
Cut the top off the coupe, that's
it right
Don't make a ass outta yourself, by assumin
My music keeps you movin, what are you provin?
You know that I'm two levels above you baby
Hug
the young ones are growing
We're the kids in America (whoa)
We're the kids in America (whoa)
Everybody live for the music-go-round
Bright lights,
or MTV or Joan Rivers Fashion Police
Not what you read in tabloid seats
These are MC's that live by the code, it's hard for me to spit it
Because
a bungalow
In the back of the mansion which he
Shared with a pack of ducks one of whom
Spent more time inside the house than outside
He thought of himself
with, with
Shit, let that bitch breath
I'm way to important to be talking 'bout extorting
Asking me for a portion is like asking for a coffin
Broad
straight to the Bay
That's how we turn the game on, it's game on
Ty mama died, I was there, my nephew died, he was there
He in my house more than I be
I buy franks, I make sure they're Hebrew
When I entertain, and love to treat you
Love to see a girl in a nightie that's see-through
Take her
changing, with morals in decay
Human rights have made the wrongs okay
Something's missing, and if you're asking me
I think that something is the G-O-D
with, with
Shit, let that bitch breath
I'm way to important to be talking 'bout extorting
Asking me for a portion is like asking for a coffin
Broad
down the BQ
When I buy franks, I make sure they're Hebrew
When I entertain, and love to treat you
Love to see a girl in a nightie that's see-through
Talk to me
(I was with my girl when she had some bad mews)
Yeah
(Her man cheated
Had her upset and confused)
But baby what's that got to do
With you
Well, my young lady, she lives
three houses away
she claims that she can hear moaning and screaming
to me fuckin' you every night
well, let me
While rubbing elbows in the
Hills of high society
I look back on my life and
Realized the hood lied to me
Built the bullshit sense of
Pride inside
changing
Yeah, he does that a lot doesn't he? Umm, oh, I'm David Bowie. I live down the road
Oh!
Sir Percival lets me use his piano when he's not
I wanna rest
My weary bones on your providence
I wanna find somewhere that I can
Recover my innocence
I wanna rest
My weary bones in the house
God (my God), top five, number one, quit trying to even the odds
Signal going in and out (prr), swimming at the house (wait)
Live with no doubts
a difference
I am just another nigga go figure
To live in and die in America
To live in and die in America
To be young and then die in America
To be young
the ghetto
Uh- america
Pretty and ugly
Beautiful, bloody
You love me, america
Get shot witcha buddy by police
Fuck 12 every day in america
Good as the ghetto
on the couch
And beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house?
Ha, ha, now it's all about Versace, you copied my style
Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it
I was born a house cat
By the slight of my mother's hand
I think I'm gonna stay home
I want to live in the center of a circle
I want to live
is funny
So I called her mother's house and asked her, had she seen my baby (whoa, ah)
Drove my 6 around lookin' for that missin' lady
Got back
just too hard to build
I live in a house that
Looks out over the ocean
And there's some stars
That fell from the sky
Livin' up on the hill
Please
.jpg/228px-Frank_Sinatra_(1957_studio_portrait_close-up).jpg "Frank Sinatra")
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