Search results for 'quiet down by the pack' Page #1,110

dots, that's dumber and dumber (Dudu)
For my brother, put man on a jumper
Phone quiet, still doin' up numbers
Mandem opp block, doin' up hunters (Rrr)

fucking disc jockey
Excuse me while I get to tripping
I don't need God I need an exorcism
But ya'll don't hear me they say
Hands up
Halo down
Stand up
Pray

j'ai pas l'temps d'répondre à cette conne
J'suis en KTM gris dans l'sector
Je l'levais j'avais pas passé l'code
Y'a deux ans j'étais down bad
Comme d'hab

gettin' low
With my bright skin shawty, call her light show
She like Reese I'm tryna light that
Show love, she hold me down like an ice pack
It's big

by miles and inclinations, now we're heading down to New Orleans to dig Old Bull Lee and ain't that going to be kicks-
and listen will you to this old

mother's child to never have to pack a nine
And with these rhyme designs, I'm about to light it up like daytime

Me tell dem, long time
Where done

I'm on single player
I've been spinning 'round in circles, feelin' upside down
Trappin' out the studio, you'll find me there
Got some gangsters in my

prollys
They all talking but it's so quiet
Being real it came with no prizes
Yeah but I'm still being me till the end
Imma do what I do it ain't shit

deine Box mit
Vercheck's nicht, schmeiß dich in Sachen
Nehm dein'n Bruder Pack mit, ay
Nike Treter made in Indonesia
Ghetto Kids in mei'm Block
Spielen

Yo, Uh, Yo

What they gonna tell me?
I was down nobody would help me
Now the shops in fulham
I might be on made in Chelsea
Done 6 in the can came

on that? You a joke on tracks
You get killed by the shit that I ghost on tracks
Y'all don't even know half the shit I wrote on tracks
But time will tell,

Knock him down and then torture
We gon' jump out his bushes
When his door shut
40 by the air conditioner
Keep the blower tucked

(Bucky made a slap)

no bitch to admit that I cry a lot
Fuck being sad
Put them tears up in a frying pot
Rocking by my lonely
Since '05 posted on the block
Down for all my

Let's stop pretend, the ones that pack pistols by they waist men
Cristal by the case men, still in they mother's basement
The pretty face men claiming

dropping the top over east
Said I'm off the meter, I sip by the liter, you heard bout the talk in the streets
I pop out and eat her, and then I'm gon' beat

Flip the script like a spatula
Came from the back of the back to the front of the pack
Fuck yo' feelings, I ain't tryna patch it up
That ain't no

Rollin' weed, tryna find myself
Every minute, every hour 'til my time runs out
I'm on a highway and I can't slow down
If I crack open the window

i'm playin
Den ain't no games
Like F da game I can sit
Buh soon da team do numbers
How ima count fa da shit
I rather count so if we down Not many outs

Frontline

Kottonmouth Kings

Double Dose, Vol. 1: Hidden Stash/Og Dopeumentary

2009

These fly rhymes and high times are brought to you by Suburban Noize
D-Loc, Saint Vicious, DJ Bobby be, Pakelika
The bakers man, bake me a cake

or a cleanse of conscience?
Can't pack those old feelings into all these boxes
And I know that time heals but I still need a doctor
Is it wrong to assume you've

Switcharoo that bitch, 
Then I fly her right back home

Which forgis to get,
Do I want black, or that chrome

Touch down like Emmit Smith
I caught the pack

food for thoughts cuz by the time
I'm done with these beats you're gonna need Atkins
I could see your mouth watering
That's why I bought you a pack full

beyond yours
Now, back down
We was in the background
Pulling strings like a guitar
Shoot you like a scar
Words aimed with precision come afar, from Jupiter

tap in come shop now
If I see the opps, I'ma spin they block down
Run it up, we them niggas at the top now
On folks, I've been slidin' since day one