Lyrics:
All Slobs should be dead by the 9-5
Cause in the muthafuckin' graves is where the Snoops lyin'
y'all niggas keep the world a blue atmosphere
Two see's
it
Big bag Ronnie, got big bags on me, my wallet a duffel and shit
Play with the pros and suffer the cons, my nigga that shit's what it is
I need my
what you mean
If them niggas ran down on me
Tryna swap my life for a casualty
Yeah L cause u backpark too
When they see you on the ave
And they beat
forgot the last half
One of my opps baby momma ass fat
He think shit is funny, we gon' see who laugh last
I just knocked a New York bitch at Last Lap
I
Uhh! Check it out, yo; it's called, uh, well, uh
"K Sera Sera," whatever will be will be
And the track is kinda in there, so lemme bust a li'l
A li'l
to tell you, you lookin over us
Our little angel, but you know what
Brooklyn's missing you Detroit is missing you
New Orleans missing you Philly's
dining (with us)
COAT VENDOR
Here's a new arrival
THE MAN
That is an ounce
VENDORS
Hats, dats, bats
COLLINS
That's my coat!
COAT VENDORS
We give
pedal
I be rowdy in this bitch, I step on my rebels
You gon see ThakidBreezy run year 23
I just wanna reach new levels, I can achieve
With my niggas, Bt
THE BLOCK
ON DUTY LIKE c COP-
OFFICER cCE WITH
THE LYRICcL PLOT-
SO THROW Yc 3'S UP
IN THE cIR-
cND WcVE EM LIKE
YOU JUST DON'T CcRE-
McN LISTEN, I cM
on stage
They right there with the toys
Lil Ricky, Nar, L, I see y'all
We them niggas, mothafucka's wanna be y'all
Guess what, this is Cypress Village roll
pushin' up lookin' rough
Next thing you know D.U. is squishin' guts
Then by next Friday, I'll have you on the runway
Still eat the crumb cake on any
Came across an old wallet
It’s times of transition that you find shit that make you nostalgic
Filling up the boxes with some stuff from out
Walkin down the street with my, glock in my hand
No safety, you know it and our guns don't jam
Keep one in the hand and no need for cockin
When
don't get me
Betting on myself like I bagged a bookie
Just a freshman but was never a rookie
This album is my present to you
I hope you left out the milk
your mind
Once the performance is completed seated in the back
Too cool to throw yo' hands up; I never quite understood
Alla that what you too
One thing I know is
You’re hatin’ the position I’m in
But lemme tell ya somethin’
Not long ago
I was at the bottom, starin’ up with my friends
But
way you go
It don’t get much better than this
I’m like Curry with the shot, man, I just don’t miss
I’m hitting accidently and-1’s
I got the talent
bad all by myself
Bumping my top five artist for motivational help
If they can do it I can do it too, and I gotta admit, that I do it so well
If you
new with a lime twist
Stay gettin' faded, some say my mind's sick
Maybe that's why I do it
Crazy how I fly through it
The turbulence, turn me merciless
For my G-pack niggas
Right, right
Shooting at cops nigga what
For my G-pack niggas
Fuck the police
N.Y.P.D. New York Pricks and Dicks
They
peeling the potatoes
Nigga can't catch up if I give them all tomatoes
Fuck with me and end up in the deep hole (l l louda)
That's on finito final
New album
Ayy
Free 42
Locked in the can
You know what time it is
Free my fuckin bro man
Listen
Look
Lemme tell you bout pain
Man I'm feeling insane
Free my
O-S-S H-O-G-G
O-you-T-L-A-W-Z, Boss Hogg Outlaw gangstas
It's him Slim, T-H-U-G
But it's true it's me, on your mother's T.V
On your brother's c.d.,
like the twenty-second
Come hither when I beckon
Son, you like every hour, you better check-in
Smoking moonrocks at the boondocks
Busting forty-five
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