Lyrics:
They in the back of my head my ancestors talking to me
Trying to hear what they said
Hold up, all of my leaders are dead
So I salute them For all
Sometimes being alone what you need the most
Surrounded by dead presidents like I'm seeing ghost
Always speed racing gotta chase it life come at you fast
because he lacked faith
But instead, he was shot by another black face
Another day in the ghetto,
Where this young black girl was being ignored by her
presidents
Fete
Mula
Dividends
Guap
Guala
Cheese
Dead presidents
Dat Fete
Dat Mula
Them Dividends
Chorus:
I go get the money
I go get the money
I go get
Bow Your Head
By Peralta
Chorus- Bow your head the presidents dead
First Ladies white dress is covered in red
They said he went to heaven
But he
Red rum red rum it's tricky like rev run
I don't talk about the president's unless its dead ones
It was shake and bake back then I used to make bread
Dead president fuck the president
Manson's strive for power
While I work to save my residents
He owns you even though he never told you
Mark
the same dream money the main thang is all I membrane and I Know it was just all to a dead end I guess that's why they call em Dead presidents is the moment
You're about to hear a tale of an indestructible man, he's dead and hes PISSED.
He's roamin' the streets at night lookin' for ways to DIE.
Should
Before I possessed vices I was a good boy with virtues
Looking up to dead President's sculptured statues
But I changed when my favourites taught me
Allen and Albert, Dead Presidents we out for
Menace To Society Black Male Alpha but
We don’t fraternize our pockets we capitalize
For upper case faces in
talk was psychic thoughts
Flashbacks, all the past blacks trapped in the present
Killin for dead presidents, where every ghetto residence
is
collapse rap shows at a standstill
Some racial circuits the frequencies can't handle
The funk tracks produced by EPMD
But it's a fat jam, that will never
Uh yeah Jones, uh
Now we set them presidents, to get them presidents
Over the ones that are dead, we'll put guns to your head
Put dots on your loaf
Pour ceux qui attestent qu'on sent la mort comme la peste.
J'suis blanc & tu me détestes, j'suis comme les murs de ta tèce.
J'ai grave envie d'bédave
ahead of the feds
cll of my presidents I love them dead
Never be hesitant I get the bread
Hurry up give me bread before I get baking
cnd make an example
the trouble, much closer
I'm only twenty-three but my mind is older, and it'll forever be
Dead presidents to the homies, death to my enemies
Murder, murder,
They say I'm gonna be dead by day
From the words I say, so hey
If I get a little wicked it's ok
But I gotta get paid fuckin' ay
I'm not bitin' my
sports or anything really i
Felt neglected by my family
Growing up as well i've had
Many ideas that always felt
Superior compared to others, I
Knew that my
broad day
By a craze lunatic with a gun
Who just happened to work on the same block in a library book depository
Where the President would go for
fingerprints
Chris Tucker, Laurence Tate, Dead Presidents
Dead white boys spread across the coffee table
Don't know maybe I'll start me up a record label
Zdrasti Mr. President
How you been, how’s the wife
It’s been a minute since we talked
And I got some things on my mind
I’m Starting simple
Not too
dangerous
All the demons in my head be sayin' kill em quick
Ay, you talkin' like I ain't dangerous
Just want dead presidents, don't want another bitch
Ay, you
why I'm around, will you still stick with me?
Never wana stand by me Just wana still from me
My refusal gets your sharp thing under my skin like in
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