Search results for 'by r disc album crowded house' Page #22

Na Na

Skepta

Against All Odds

2009

house my bills,
These fuckers know the deal,
Cause they're all paid by me (tell me T)
I got my own money, and I
Ain't looking for no footballers
So if you

Bro does my hair need a cut or what?
I wish I could stop it like, "that's enough!"
I wanted a glow up, this shit makes me throw up
Surrounded by

Look into my eyes,
You can see the realness,
You can feel Iʼm building towers,
Brick by brick, or with mud and sticks,
Iʼm running this shit in

I could wolf whistle at robots
I feel I could hold a relatively decent conversation with TV's Joe Pasquale
I feel I could listen to a whole album by

up to the crib
You dribble on yo bib
Yo house look like a kip
Flexing on you with the drip ay
I'm a misfit
Get on the beat and throw a fit
Pull up

When this begins
Imma be me, I won’t follow no trends
No small talk, only big
Who are you and who you fuckin with
I only play to fucking win
I’m

No smoking in the house, no smoking in the house
There's no smoking in the house
So would you please put it out

Check it out, yo
I'm a animal,

qualified
For the wards are over-crowded
Mixing gun wound
Malnutrition and cholera patients

Death is in every corner of this place
It's lying

hats
And I don't like Proof, punk-ass, he think he tough
He keep thirty niggaz with him, cause he weak as fuck!
I ever catch you by yourself, I'ma fuck

wanna make it out leaving south
Okay how the third album, and the second album, and the first album and then my album, my sound, my big house
The big

happiness she my daughter
Me an album she my cover State of Texas she my slaughter house
She don't know how to do
Butterfly locked in a cocoon please C fly me

Most of my peers are in twilight of their careers
And i'm still the dopest nigga here
By the way they say that they ball i'm brokest nigga here
Haaa

The only bad album I listen is by Michael Jackson
Nothing but good songs in it common now, play some common
I won't mind a ton of reggae after play some

crept
Into the game, we're skipping the steps
Breaking the windows the house will be swept

The game I will get, I have to possess
Time is like money I

Famous

Tinchy Stryder

Third Strike

2010

cause I know majors
Back to my music, back to my papers
Back to the paparazzi stuffing our faces
Back to my boy whose discussing my wages
One by one

After the funeral cause it's sad on my side
Cause in the ghetto, it's one big black moon
I mean people dyin everyday, we all are doomed
My mama look at me

and its beautiful

Sweet lies defeat lives
Sour Tears are cried, as the fucking years go by
Let the beat energize
In the streets we scream the songs to make

their forts are destroyed by my
Stroid and my boy
If you know anything about value
Then I suggest you take a few Valiums
Sober up, fill your cup, I slowed

has hit my mailbox

And has not been stolen by my former houseguest who has my Spare keyring
A hundred to the house for their hospitality and $55 to my

Uh

"It's Mr N on that track"

ayt
T-minus on this one tho- T-minus

(Verse 1)

Uh, said switching up
Get the house a little less serious
Cleaning up

Nigga get yo hand outta my pocket nigga
Get yo hand outta my pocket

It ain't nothin' nice

Ras Kass: Son I'm skimming through the
Billboard Top R

of kids are now thirty, no doubt
And some of my own dear teachers are my coworkers now
Hey Ross, we could've made an album decades ago
While the experience

come in?
I need every excuse to be alone, and humbly
shut the door.

My eyes
are my worst defenses,
gouged by the seeing of things as they are and must

like Jimi Hendrix, my hero, I realised, wait these songs of his
Some of them they're written by Bob Dylan
Maybe I should be listening to that guy more
It