Lyrics:
finga up when I'm after you
Now I strap a big dick by the Girbaud sign
You heard I'm fuckin yo bitch, so you grabbin yo 9
Movin up like you got it on yo
end
When he cries
When he dies
The newer me is just filled with lies
The old me is six feet under
Age is way more than a number
I just wish that I was
he cries
When he dies
The newer me is just filled with lies
The old me is six feet under
Age is way more than a number
I just wish that I was younger
I
See see look
Ima get down to the knit and grit of this shit
I love my bro That's my slime that's my 6
3 years ago I think I had my worst birthday
not for football, but for horse riding and Xbox gaming
In February 2012, Thomas, as a 15 year old, was diagnosed with a rare form of childhood cancer,
I'm a seven-inch cowboy
With a tiny pair of six guns.
Five'll get you ten,
I betcha never seen one.
Well I'm a seven inch cowboy
How do you be?
on the map
Yo check one two, this is the voice of yours truly the Flava Flav
And I just want y'all to know, we ain't goin' nowhere
Old school is here to stay
She asks for camels and a gallon of gas
Yeah, baby, that should last…6 miles to mckenney
Camels on the counter by the bathroom sink
Something smelled
drink moonshine till he was well blind
Twenty-one years old
Old Double-J could drink and fight
And talk a blue streak all night
But to him that
Whip In My Ass
I Was Seven Years Old When I Lost Dad
Tryin' To Get Self, In Fact
But I Was To Young One To Understand
Who Would Take
it's off the pursuits
Back in fatigues, black tees and Timberland boots nigga
The year is new I want my spot back
Take 2, matter fact take the whole
the owner
Of more than just Coronas and old, broken Toyotas
Or debts from old posing and spending dough on them rollers
What didn't help, twice a year, I'd be
Display them 6 figures on N26
Hop on stage, thousands fans that's pretty big
Touring all year long got me pretty sick
Tag along people wanna join
Mop the floor with your head first
Sucking dicks now your knee hurt
Try to solve me out like rubrics
Not the three by three I’m a six six
Bitch I am not
the field by the beehives (beehives)
And the years go by (and the years go by)
And the children play under the old oak trees
And the acorns roll
get your ass kicked
Worse than them little Limp Bizkit bastards
And Moby? You can get stomped by Obie
You thirty six year old bald headed fag, blow
Ain't no love in Oakland, bitch
Niggas always talkin bout 'I love you'
But ain't no love, bitch
Now it's a shame, I can't be saved by John
the hell are those papers to sign?"
And the man broke down
In a private room Danny's mother wept
As an old Jamaican woman swept
And not by chance their
Turn your block more smokey than Jamaican nigga's nights
Are they racist, fam? Tryna be funny? Or tryna relate to man?
Sixty-year-old businessman,
six-four, I'm Diddy no tint
I can't hide in New York City
I'm 'bout it in the South, sleep good in the West
Know a chick from Watts with Bad Boy tatted
Now bein' six years old, I had seen some trains before,
So it's hard to figure out what I'm at the depot for.
Trains are big and black
act. And so it's a very old song, 100 and something years old. I think it was more than 100 years old. Steve couldn't believe that us Brits were talking
obtained in the savage years,
where he learned the binding of a wire hanger to rabbit ears,
every pixel that leaked dead over the carpet,
had to be spit
the hood, she did not have a reaction (skrrt)
With a six-year-old, she kept the doors unlocked
And drove by the 5-0 like, "Fuck those cops!"
Goddamn, it
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