Lyrics:
you best step away from the mic before I get Ike Turner on your ass.
Aw fuck
You wanna get jumped chump punk?
Come press your luck by our whole crew we
a boy yearn for the stale taste of home but I've burned every bridge heading back there
So I'm stuck hanging 'round, getting old, trending down, left
riding through the woods and took her by the hand"
The boss he lay back flat on his bed
He cursed the heat and he clutched his head
He pondered the future
time,
Time to take back what is mine.
Aye Aye oh oh
You don’t even drink tho
Such a little princess, sneakin out her window
I am such a diva, guess ill
Kid, turn on the TV
I’m 'bout to hit u with a flashback
Someone come and give old Mr Krabs his
Hard earned Money Cash back
I didn't get it when I was
thinking about this all day
All good, there's a reason that we called, Dave
let me start with your background
Where you come from?
Sure, I was undergrad down
That go to show this ass
Kicking ain't gon bother nigga
Cause it's right back where
You started nigga
Being a son of a Harlem nigga
Now you was made by
Bust it
This here's a jam for all the fellas
Tryin' to do what those ladies tell us
Get shot down 'cause ya overzealous
Play hard to get,
Bust it
This here's a jam for all the fellas
Tryin' to do what those ladies tell us
Get shot down 'cause ya overzealous
Play hard to get,
was 14
Gameboy and a starter cap Lion King
But Mufasa had my back
Pops saved me from the wildebeest
Staring down the back
Daddy saved me and now it's
and bore it thro'.
For Enoch parted with his old sea-friend,
Bought Annie goods and stores, and set his hand
To fit their little streetward sitting-room
I get a little bit high
Just enough to get by
Fighting demons in my mind
I get a little bit loose
With a little bit of Booze
Just to cruise
doubt you're eighteen
Do you have a note from your
Mom? I wanna meet your mom mark: Hey
Put those thirteen year old boobs away! If
I wanted to see
snack
I'm Santa Claus down to Panama beach drunk in my underalls
Playing underwear volleyball with ya bra
I ain't bothered by your triple D's, not at all
You'll find just where I'm talking bout
Cornfields everywhere, down back roads
Good old boys are drinking whiskey at the Honey Hole
I'm from the city with
Far From Home
Right!
I'm back in the booth, it's been a little minute
But you know in this time I've been gone
I been living, seeing some things
make us run
'Cause we're them old boys
Raised on shotguns
We say grace, and we say ma'am
If you ain't into that
We don't give a damn
We're from north
up from the ground
He says hold that load up there for a minute or two
Cause I got to check some gear down here below
So whatever you do with them
I put it down like this for you
Remember Whitley avenue
And everybody who I love back where Im from know this the sound
If you wasnt back on Harlan
and I saw that same little boy
Kneeling by a grave in an old cemetery
Well, I stopped my car and walked over to where the little boy was kneeling down
And then go home with my
Home girls and have fun
It seems like you're very versatile if
It's one thing that I would
Love for little girls to embrace from
live in that railroad shack
And I wander down that rusty old track
Like a lonely old-timer out of my mind
Lookin' for that lady who was sweet and kind
with this old cowboy friend of mine
When some motorcycle riders started snickering in the back
And started poking fun at my friend's hat
One old boy
Nothing but the classics
Old school hip-hop
West coast classics
Hotbox, top down, ventilation
Only west coast heat in my station
Everybody talk
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