Lyrics:
Tryna find his outlet, coulda been an outlaw
Lil Wayne wasn't out yet, inspried by DMX
Inspired my first rhyme, glad to find a 49
I hadn't struck a gold
But he can't figure out his income tax
And the tapes go hmm-mm-mm-mm….
*Attorney General
© 1974 (renewed) DARTMOOR MUSIC
Used by
What that nigga want, God?
Word up, look out for the cops (Wu-Tang five-finger shit)
(Cash rules) word up, two for fives over here, baby
Word up,
to be a man
Had a steady job, till I started into drinking
Then I started making music traveling with the devil's band
Ohh, the years flew by like
his casket
And now they covering the bastard in plastic
I smoke blunts on the regular
Fuck when it counts
Tryin to make a million dollars
Out a quarter
on they necks 'til they can't breathe
Claim they five stars but sell you dreams
They say death multiplies by threes
Line them all up and let's just see
Fuck
test tube baby}
Check one two, check one two
De La Soul, is now back on the map
Long Island, is now back on the map
Good rap music, is now back
teaching
If you ask me
So it's important to learn from each mistake
And try hard, not to make the same one twice
His only regret was making the mistake
Moments like this
I numb the pain
By making music
What about that cash
What about that fam
How they feel about that
They gon slide bout that
(Fosho)
After
busy daddy's writing a song
This song ain't gonna write it'self
I'll give you one underdog then
You gotta swing by yourself
Then turn right around in
[Chorus: x2]
Hey this is no lie
Me and my n****s gettin' high
Yo if you look up in the sky
You might see us floating by
You see Biggie be like
and a snare, now the green light to go
I flex a rhyme on a rapper then proceed to wreck
By break this mic in half, then put him in the yolk and snap his neck
Yeah
It's nothing new
'Cause this is exactly what I do
What up E, haha
The good weeds lit on this one, yeah
Riding by myself
The world turning,
by putting pen to this pad and dispersing these feelings
While the label only care about making a killin'
Feel my energy, I ain't talking E-N-E-R-G-Y,
the candle lit, my nigga never rowed
Niggas caught him slipping, gave him a shit bag
Five shots to the stomach, 2Pac gift pack
It's death row, conspiracy
harder
Trying to survive in the life of a young godfather
My homies is making it elsewhere
Striving, working 9 to 5 with no health care
We both had
three, four, five
Six, seven, eight, nine
Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen
Then comes fifteen
Oh, yes, then comes sixteen
Seventeen, eighteen oh,
making all the money
HA HA HA HA HA
[JD]
While ya'll ride matchbox, I push the hot wheels
Don Chi-Chi with the mass appeal
Lettin' champagne spills
name from the one we had before
Now at this point, we were five years in the making
Previously vain, graffiti oriented, breakin'
From cops to shop
Out in the West Texas town of El Paso
I fell in love with a Mexican girl
Nighttime would find me in Rosa's Cantina
Music would play and Feleena would
cuts
I put what I live by on both nuts
It's either him or me so I say fuck dude
I look him in his eyes and say FUCK YOU!
Fuck you, hey, I been
a seventh grade education
Raised a family by the sweat of his brow
I didn't think we had much then
But boy do I know different now
'Cause we had music
Yeah,
Gras
Bitches been going wild hit the sound cliche
Give me two bitches we could do this three ways
Four missed calls on my iPhone five
Bitch six feet
Music is my dope
This music is my dope
Music is my dope
Nine to five side hustles and pride struggles
Look insane going crazy inside of you
Mind
Discuss these making music by hi 5 Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In