Lyrics:
Guevara with bling on, I'm complex
I never claimed to have wings on
Nigga, I get my "by any means" on whenever there's a drought
Get your umbrellas out
Philadelphia history
We gon' warm y'all up with the prequel
Let's get it
Yo it's your man Cosmic Philly skills Kev
Philly's 1 DJ you know the fucking handle
You
K dot dave
Watch how K dot move, something not like you
Have your gun by you
'cause niggas will try you
Watch how K dot move, something not like you
forget that boy told you
Get, that, dirt off your shoulder
I probably owe it to y'all, proud to be locked by the force
Tryin' to hustle some things,
and replied, "Why yes
But I prefer the term African American Express"
Brains, power, and muscle, like Dame, Puffy, and Russell
Your boy back on his hustle,
inside your livin' room
The only difference is I got the balls to say it in front of y'all
And I don't gotta be false or sugarcoat it at all
I just get
forget that boy told you
Get, that, dirt off your shoulder
I probably owe it to y'all, proud to be locked by the force
Tryin' to hustle some things,
award me with hoes
Put em on a track like vocals
Leave em for a day and they want their
Master back like the first album by Jay
I dash with the dividends
and thanks to this angst
I done quit chicken heads cold turkey
And started slowly roastin' 'em
'Cause that's where most of my anger is based
Fuck your
And even if the sky come fallin'
Bitch, I'ma still be high
I got faith in my weedman
My lil' niggas got yay' by the beanbag
Hit your ass from the side
Only time of the day I get to spend on my own
I was trippin' off how I used to sleep at ya crib
Should drive by right where you live, and pick you up
and thanks to this angst
I done quit chicken heads cold turkey
And started slowly roastin' 'em
'Cause that's where most of my anger is based
F-your
a heaven sent instrument
My rhythmatic regiment navigates melodic notes
For your soul and your mental
That's why I'm instrumental, vibrations is what I'm
ain't yours
I know y'all poor, y'all broke
Y'all job just hanging up clothes
Step to me, get burnt like toast
Mothafuckas, adios, amigos
Hop, hop,
them things that you got
Them dirty boys turn your poundcake to red velvet
How can you measure a nigga by multiple figures he may got, got, got
Had
Close your eyes
Listen, listen, listen
They give niggas time like it's lunch down there
You go down there looking for justice that's what you
(Note: Performed at the Marquee
Club 19 12 1985)
(Note: Original by Black Sabbath
On album Technical Ecstasy)
I've been gone a long long time
From yo' car to a crap game, no one rolls wit' you
One of Mini-Me's shoes got more sole than you
So by the time you figure out why your record ain't
(that's why, that's why, that's why)
Everybody's a player, rubbing them Kangols on their head
Thinking its all about your clothes, nigga, it's all about
don't need one
NB: The TV Version continuesthe
Album version continues below
Praline: Then I would like a statement to
That effect signed by the Lord
inside your livin' room
The only difference is I got the balls to say it in front of y'all
And I don't gotta be false or sugarcoat it at all
I just get
See if we can kill your amnesia by the time I leave
All mommies I harbor for vouch for me
Tell 'em bout the time all your mommas couch mommy
All
ain't yours
I know y'all poor, y'all broke
Y'all job just hanging up clothes
Step to me, get burnt like toast
Mothafuckas, adios, amigos
Hop, hop,
The club
Why
To party and have some fun
What is it that,
Can come and take away all your stress, tell me
Music
No further questions, you have passed my
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