Lyrics:
fuckin' way
But here I am, workin' in the studio
And your album ain't out because you're movin' slow
By the time you make one I'll be on ten
Hit the studio
This is your album, so that means you definitely got to get funky, so run it
[The D.O.C.]
Swinging, singing a brand new rap
On a rhythm concocted by
will do it by whatever means necessary
Detroit red flow
East coast, west coast
Used to leave MoCo to hit Ledroit with Bo
I dated women with poppin'
if you want, then I shoulder the blame
Overcome at times by uncontrollable flames, and multiple pains
Now it seems like I'm goin insane
For the love
disperse of rap
On the road to the riches more furs to drag
More niggaz to kill, than birds to bag
Hit the jeweler and splurge the tab, uh
Hops, out
first hit off
("I Need A Beat") I Need A Beat, it was a smash on the DL
But everytime I did a show my name was misspelled
Can't Live Without My Radio
But I gotta learn in order to teach
Then I gotta burn in order to reach
My niggaz
Yo, I see what I see day by day
Hoping that the Lord will pave
the ground, watch me count it up
Cop me a pound, burn it down with us (uh)
Let's hit the town, is you down or nah?
Look at me now, I done found me some
a mil before my album hit the shelves
And I ain't talkin' bout no signin' bonus (uh-uh)
'Tics went platinum to remind ya homey
I'm not a restroom so
the flyers
Of the album release the single release party
The little club hosting event i'ma
Pull up and when I do pull up
Just have the same type of energy
all that shit back in the day
It's total, total lack of self-respect on his part man
[Verse 1]
Surrounded by all these little piggies
Round a pool
to Florida City, Opa-Locka
By way to Overtown and look at this city
Open to Grove and the South Miami
Wedwood Highlear, look Eddie, look 'Bana
Some many ice
Big here, Dre gone, moved on
(Scratched) Big here, Dre gone, moved on
Changed names from Aquemini to Purple Rib-bon
My first album slept on, failed
they're taking toll
If you've been bad, Lord, I bet you have
And you've not been hit by flying lead
You've not been hit by flying lead
You'd better
Ermstar on the Track
Up in the morning by 6
Not on the gram scrolling through pics
But I’m busy writing my album
Makin original shit like Netflix
Big Daddy Kane catch a vibe/
I was raised by the Rap Gods/ raised by the rap gods
I was Raised by the Rap Gods/ raised by the rap gods
Prodigy, Guru,
that's nice, its holographic
I'm working in the shade
So, I guess it looks like magic
And if I made an album
I just hope it'd be a classic
Life goes up
For your eyes, do you understand?
For your eyes
You probably grown now so this song'll hit you
If you're hearing this, unfortunately means that I'm
on that
La la la la la la LA time
And by the time you hit me back,
Well, I was on another line, hey
We stayed solid
Where we going
Not a problem
Find
Yeah, Uh
I rap on no beat... A-cappella
I make it rain no umbrella
If I fuck a bitch this what I tell her
Getting money in advance
Bitches gripping
niggaz and by the way all my niggaz move boulders
Like Barney rubble any trouble free muffle the gat
I'm young and black with a chip on my shoulder
Its
Yeah, hit me with the snares, Fresh
Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah, just the snares, Fresh
Ch-ch-ch-ch, I like the snares, Fresh
Ch-ch-ch-ch
Yeah, I'ma ride
the free-throw line and bang
Now, I bust and crush tracks, nothin' really changed
Except, twelve-inch scars on my body
What I mean by that, I was hit by some
feelin like the best, nobody fuckin with us
We done turned to a bygone don crew
We got the semi Kimora like Djimon Hounsou
A lifetime criminal, live by
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