Lyrics:
Check!
Got the Tongue of a Pimp
Raised by a dirty preacher
That used the church money to cop a new Beamer
Got the heart of a child raised by
since this is Christmas
and you're the Priest..." he slipped three bills under the table into the
Priest's dirty hand. The Priest faded into the street
God-blessed nigga
What? Take your hands off your nuts
And your lips off that blunt
Stand for something, stand erect
Stand for this
You'll fall for anything
a salt shaker)
Maybe we can talk later (maybe we can talk later)
I'm dirty Murph, I got a lot on my mind
Like funeral line booty's got a lot of behind
it bump
Check the stars out when I ride, dodgin' potholes with these tires
Hogging lanes, swang and bang in a 'Stang so let me by
'Cause I got
Deep down in the dirty money ...tell me ...
I'm trying to hate, baby tell me what's up, cause you're the shit, yeah you're the shit
Can I get one
Deep down in the dirty money, tell me
I'm trying to hate,
baby tell me what's up, cause you're the shit, yeah you're the shit
Can I get one
Black culture Poppin' , number 1 Export
Black culture
Black culture Poppin' number 1 export
Black culture
Black culture Poppin' number 1
Our place, her scent
Your lies, contempt
I should have known, oh
Her lips, homewreck
My hands, your neck
I could explode, no
You promised me
Listen
Mortal I, mortal he, mortal us
Mortal
I'm just a black man
A man unfazed by the moonlight
Yet when faced with his own morality flinches
enough
Cram em in wagon full of acid to the maximum
Half back dashing in half black, manic lip
Slack vans, granite spit
Passing all them flaccid kids
We can buy that mansion on the hill
We'll fill it up until it's filled
We'll buy a big black cadillac
And we'll keep an extra one in the back
What, goes, on!
Rolling Stones of the rap game, not bragging
Lips bigger than Jagger, not saggin'
Spell it backwards, I'mma leave it at that
That
gristle,
Hand yo' mama a tissue,
If I decide to kiss you.
I check it in on the West Coast (Ask about me)
I check it in in the Dirty South (a yeay)
bringin' the doom
'Cause I'm 6:30, killin' shit, hands down and dirty
That white boy can't rap, he talk good and act nerdy
I just texted Erykah Badu
wanna murder me
But can't even analyze G, The Mahdi
Flow so precise, thug paradise, five karot ice
Black Christ living the life
Niggas see the light when
the courtroom, and my trial began
Where I was held by twelve honest men
Just before the jury started out
I saw that dirty judge commence to look about
In
Tool
I'm real nigga, you so full
World tours, and you local
All you say this shit on the menu
Give me large fries and I’ll be cool
Put your hands down by
I love all my friends
Thinkin' about this life I provide for them
This world has some real things dividin' 'em
My right hand, he's Muslim, I'll
the nerve to make it happen through rapping
DVD:
They ain't gettin' no passes
Boot straight up their asses
Started sensing a pattern
Black lives never
unstainable
I chew rocks
Slipe wit type digital soup deflect bullets
Black hooded surrounded by forty acres of wooded
Land, like my cousin dusty dirty
keep my dirty bones rolling
Black rain, grey skies
we do the end-time-riffing as the last birds die
we are gasoline sniffing good news are fake news
I
and rave
I'm raw plus I got more plants to blaze
Fiends came back with thieves
With files Long as Stant isle
And back to Queens
We strap black Mac's with
on a corner
In the middle of the night.
Reaching in the pocket
Of his battered overcoat
Skeletal hand crucified by arthritis
Clench a half-filled bottle
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