Lyrics:
sound like mine?
Now, to have a partna as well as my friend
Well I have two partnas as well as my friend
And on goes by the name of...
Maganoo aka
the brain
Dickhead, by the time you get fed
I be somewhere with a six pack and a six pack
Her lips and her hips thick
My boxers are covered in her lipstick
Karen, she's my boss at the shoe store
We sell to the rich on Madison Avenue
I come in late from Brooklyn on the F train
Karen says "honey, make
once diggin' this chick now she a stupid ho
I ain't tryna sleep lil' bitch pass me a cup of joe
I'ma drop an album soon and you ain't even know
Bored
Yes Mr. Big Shot
4 quarter down, two low clock
Buzz like a robot, no shock
Face in her pussy then lip lock
Good kush by the ziplock
Every time I
N9der ta b l7sad n3emer Bercy 3andi bzaf (yeah)
La m3a9ad ghadi nwas3o lik 9chabtek
Kantchowech ghi 3la familti o lba9i b kol i7tiram w te9dir idhom f zeb
guns
And he's talking about Nam and tall girls he calls up
White boy Joe still fighting for Dixie
Spitting his dip out an F-150, woo
Goes Dimitri who
phone, so I told her relax
Uh, uh, uh, shorty be lyin' to me, but I lie by the fact
3.5, I roll it up straight in the wood and I smoke it up fat
Uh, how
y'all already know
(Y'all already know)
I can f*** the b*** with my eyes closed
Not even put no pressure, passing by a store
Seeing big fat b*** (Huh)
cars and kicks
And look at how fast they made it
My younger brother gave less than a f*** he was content
With G.I. Joe and Tonka trucks
But I want
Decency Defied by Cannibal Corpse
Only What the Light Allows vocals by Joe Benson and Tony Reviere
Torn from your body, removed while you scream
And change yo plans
It's the numbers on your phone
And numbers on your cell
Verse 2 Juicy J
I ain't messed up by messin crooked cowards
Wit a nigga name
autobahn inertia dance
And curb them herped love bugs by the cursed final curtain clamp
Another savior with his foot cold stuck in his mouth
I play that
that or they 4:4, some call them fantastic
She called me fantastic, I called her a fat bitch
Still kill the pussy, put the cat in a casket
The funeral
the fat.
He doesn't have any legs, it's a shame,
‘cause I think he might have been good at soccer.
Grab the ball, and let's go out and play,
and then we'll
I cry when I listen to your album
With a heavy heart, and heavy soul
It reminds that at times we all get lonesome
We don't know where we want to go
But you nowhere near it
You can talk a lotta shit, but
We ain't tryin to hear it, nO!
Ya boy Joe back on it, I'm back at it
The same shit that scared
throw up your hands and drop your mic
'Cause I'll go third, and he'll go fourth
By the fifth you're dissed cause you lost
Six is your beat down,
pollution, fresh air
My solution, long hair with a fat ass, I'm deadass
Mile high club 'til I jetlag
Rothstein flow, casino
And you're just like Ginger, we
I was born with an old soul
So when I hear what you bump it sounds so so
I remember Fat Joe with the Fo Fo
Went way harder than you
Hoes spittin' old
And a Dodgers hat to me is what the Yankees is to Fat Joe
Rim low khaki stayed creased up
It has been that way since B.street (what)
Hood niggaz need Ben Wallace
They done F***** around done F***** around
Turn me up in this bitch
Nuck if you buck that's how a n**** grew up
Got money n**** I buy what I want
They
be today)
E don tey when Jimmy Jatt don dey scratch e
When I drop my album for cassette
Girls dem dey fall in like confetti
Now I am rich and I am fat
an airline 'cause easily I'm that high
Fist full of money mix some green in with your black eye
Greedy like a fat guy, I eat a nigga franchise
I beat him by
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