Lyrics:
Bump N Grind
(Bump N Grind) Now that's what my man say
Sometimes I lay in my bed, and I dream of bein hand-fed
I made the jam, with my man, about
again, add it to wax
[Chorus]
[Young Chris]
It's not a game I'm from Philly
Go by the name, Young Chris, or Young Gunner
Know my partner Young
Krishna
Keep up with your feet or get them blisters
Like you're on the Tawaf by the Kaaba, that's the mission
Yo, call the feds, call the papers, my
repent
For message never sent, now
Hello, stranger
It's been a minute since we last kicked it
By the way, just got in town
That I won't let cumulus
a gun that’s what Brown said
Mike spoke up now Mike dead
Why you following me that’s what Martin said
Travyvon spoke up now Tra dead
Breonna Went to sleep
real and I hope that you're hearing me
You must be aware to combat the conspiracy
Even in this rap game all that glitters ain't gold
Now that rap is
since "Caddy Shack" with
Greg Street in that Cadi-llac
Blowin on a pillow pack
I call it Koffee Brown
Bitches can't get off me now
Rasta man toss me
So frosty that he got a snowman to accompany
Loving thee
Then advised his subjects im you're king yo drop a knee
Forget the flows are heavenly
The muthafuckin' killer that's mad
With potential, to get bad as fuck
Now I'ma turn it around
Dig in the clip, yo, and this is the sound
Yeah, somethin like that
Here to let you know they're influenced by the phenomenal
While you're unable cause you're too unstable
All of your progress is minimal and that's
blooming- on the zooming lens
Rollin' on you nondescript-, you're marked for death
Like Colombians with bad- that gyp-
Tilt the-, twisted up the ooh-wee if
and closed his briefcase
When they sentenced me to die
Now my waitin's over
As the final hour drags by
I ain't about to tell you
That I don't deserve
Go to sleep, hoe (Go to sleep)
Go to sleep, hoe (Go to sleep)
If you're tired be quiet and go to sleep, hoe
(Go to sleep) go to sleep, hoe
(Go
Pretty Brown your a song that I can't keep from singing
Pretty Brown as you move, you don't know that you're winning
And your eyes say you're lost
And take my time makin' you mine
Now it's the end of the line
I'm fuckin' fed up with the shit that you do
I said I'm fuckin' fed up with the shit that you
a angel
what igive a nigga thats a halo
ill shoot em one time ill shoot em down
you was talking shit nigga what now
get it poppin like chris brown
ima
A puppet of the big game, an institutional thing
I wouldn't be here if I fed my brain
Got knowledge from school books, instead of street crooks
Now all I get
But niggas wanna see me killed
It was cold on that corner
Lot of my niggas gone on that corner
Now it's floor seats, ringside by the ropes
Floor seats,
a did that.
Minor, old-timer, weak-rhymer, stay-in-liner.
You won't be inclined to go, so, yo.
Maybe later you're gonna be,
But for now you're almost
your head
Hunger for me? No worry, I'll make sure you fed
I'll be all that you need this time
Now, shake it fast and recite the line
If you want
agents, far beyond narc's
Amazed by they beauty marks
Wonder Woman bracelets, knee-high boots that was made Clarks
My dick got hard, at how they spoke
was made by the maker of love
Your body that curve
Your hips in that skirt
The smell of a fragrance
Or a taste of sweetness
The passion,
surrounded by guns, killers and crack rock
Wish God could've re-edited that shot, I guess not
The L-O-G-I-C, open your mind, like O-ren Ishii
At fourteen,
sir, right now
If you've read your bible
You've read the story
About the man
That could not see, hallelujah
But he heard that Jesus was coming by
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