Lyrics:
While they coked up and weeded
Open fire
Now them niggas bleedin'
See me in flesh
And test
And get your chest blown
Straight out the west, don't get
on (come on)
I'm talking to you, come on the Working Hour
This is the working hour
We are paid by those who
Learn by our mistakes
This is the working hour
in music
Over the last decade
WEST: I wasn't even nominated for Best
Album this year this year
I only got two nominations
By the Grammys: for
Best Rap
Level Up
Switch it up and just Level Up Level Up
Back it Up and Just
Bakimanyi Nkuba biliyo
Nfumba nfumba nfumba
Album yange yeliko
Ntunda ntunda ntunda
bastard style has just been stuck
By a sticker with a 'frigerator lickin'
What if how's about why would ever thought that
The napalm would bust your
and after all those rumours going around about this band me
Leaving the band, me splitting up, or the band splitting up, and all that
Stuff, which has been
puttin' up Will Smith numbers
Surrounded by sixes and Hummers, bitches among us
Tryin' not to let this bullshit become us
It started from hunger, 'til
own
Whether we did diamond or hardly sold
We did it for our soul
Hop out the V and park by Neiman Marcus
Hope I don't see a snatch and grab
They
kill ya, I'll chop ya up
Put ya inside the mattress like drug money nigga
Yeah, I done told you niggas
Nine or ten times stop fucking with me
I
the window, see the corner that I bent it
It's just so simple when we get so D.E.E.P
Learn a lesson, pick up the album when it hits the streets like
D.E.E.P.
From the album best of donovan
An' my belly is craving, I got shakin' in my head
I feel like I'm dyin' an' I wish I were dead
If I lived till
black, with the oak wood
Gucci shoes, that's how I play
Hold up, I don't gamble, I don't play no craps
I was taught early on don't jeopardize
up, so meanwhile me and Lucas getting fucked up
You can smell us coming like a faggot when he hicks up
Listening to Common's last album to get pumped up
By the flashlight screen -
Views of a captured sceen
Bright faces smile, we're together
People sit around some Christmas supper
Lame quarrels between
But the crouching tiger just might get
Broken down by a writer
Yeah the passenger hopped out
But you got shot by the driver
There's a killer like
Every rapper who grew up in
The Nineties owes something to
2Pac people either try to emulate
Him in some way, or they go in a different
Direction
We so jiggy up in here (let's go Weezy)
Slim baby, I see you (yes)
The streets make the hustlas
Hustlas make the world go 'round
The world is
were meant
Numbers in my back account keep adding up like royalty
But so are all the reasons why I feel like I can never sleep
3 albums ain't enough
See
It's so nice to be rich, rich, rich, rich...
You are viewing lyrics of It's So Nice To Be Rich by AGNETHA FALTSKOG from the album UNKNOWN
and the doggystyle
brought out the whole album, its a party now
[Hook]
See a party aint a party til the Doc walk in it
the party get it started til I hopped up in it
with a pride
City boy, fuck it up fuck it up fuck it up
Always on the roam, this city's my home
If I die, you can write the album title on my stone
Never
festival
Not so very long ago
And the album, though well-intentioned
Not to everybody’s taste
Produced by the son of rockstar
Disappears without a trace
on my swiss
Used to write my raps like the inner trap
When I was serving packs in the jigs
Wake up on the trap and with a dirty strap
You get murdered
really blame you? (Who can really blame you?)
We're the ones who made you
Ahem, back by popular demand
Now pop a little Zantac for antacid if you can
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