Lyrics:
fade was a Caesar
you try to diss I'ma get destuctive
walk in with a bubble man I'm gonna bust it
one by one wack dancers I'm callin' off
yo Play see
nigga back in school
Fucked my teacher at Vo Tech (at Vo Tech)
Don't give no fuck about no ho
Nod off quick and I slow text (fast)
Can't just say you
little lambs looking up at me
I was a Twin Cities trash bin
I did everything they'd give me
I'd jam it into my system
She got me cornered by
the Refugee Camp!
Run up on you be , and leave your seat damp!
And sell stocks slow, sellin' high, by low
From Madina up to Y.O.
El Capitan
licken
Then we top it off with that gumbo
Jam out to the sun rose
Country life like corn rows
Ain't no other place that I'd rather be
With my sweet thang
u from
I'll get ya head hot
Couple bandz for a hit
More for a plot
Ain't the same nigga that you knew From the club
Scream my name drive by you I
off it (woo), hot dog on it (woo)
White Rolls boys, does it look like God, don't it? (Woo, woo)
Porsche 918 (woo), frog eyes on it (woo)
Pay all
the shocker
Oh lord
Tossed the rod change the whip then go duck off by a bitch for a couple of days
Making sure the laws wasn't building up a case
Dealing with
Yeah
Purps on the beat, Purps on the beat
From Cali to New Orleans
And back
The tires won't slide if the motor ain't hot
Come through, leave
You couldn't escape this music even if your name's Houdini
Our tracks, they last for Life and don't disappear like a genie
Communicating through
('Ccine)
I told the truth, you thought I was lyin'
Why you ain't never believe me? (Lyin')
Poof, Alakazam, get out the jam, Harry Houdini
It's a bull
I got you
DJ Threat
Jam Master Jay
Big Pun
B.I.G.
And Free Shyne already
We the Best
I'm from Miami-Dade County, Florida
I go by the name
A Break I'm A Break Her,
Off So Courageously,
I Got Dem Bangin Drums,
She Got Dem Alicia Keyes,
Ooh Girl Let's Make A Beat,
Ooh Girl You Make Me Weak Like
never
Post the notes of exotics
Take you back to the tropics
'Cuz you led on a tour by the three black prophets
We rock this
Slap you wit' the mo
Hey, yo guess who's bizack still hit a
Crack him off loads
Cocaine spit throat be the stove
Stay running on these tracks and
The mic be the soles
Be
Bass in your face
Not an eight track
Gettin' it good to the wood
So the people
Give you some a dat
Reactin' to the fax
That I kick and it stick
rocks
You never did blend in with the big shots
On the fast track, ain't no need for no pit stops
I just laugh at nigga wishing they was this hot
off-the-rack kind of a track
You forced to rap, remember that? It's that
You know where I'm at, there go the gat
Pass me a bat, the kill-or-be-killed kind
of the question, stop the guessin
it's hot, flows provin I pack cause my dough's movin
My whole crew up in this muh'fucker
We spray corners, stand there like you got
Ah ah nothing but Head$hot$
Ah ah nothing but Head$hot$
Ah ah nothing but Head$hot$
Ah ah nothing but Head$hot$
I'm coming at you with some headshots
never knew the plot
She was born off track
Tight top, short skirt, thinks she's too nice
Hates love but she's been deep in twice
Pars with hoes can't
never
Post the notes of exotics
Take you back to the tropics
'Cuz you led on a tour by the three black prophets
We rock this
Slap you wit' the mo
'em hot tracks
Aks'd him could he bark on the beat
And spark Cali
Villain not the cat you wanna meet
In a dark alley
got me a lawyer who research off Ritalin
Pure cocaine you can tell by the taste, fiend hit me up so you know ima whip a gram
My last bitch used to be
Discuss these hot rod jam by off track 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