Lyrics:
Small change got rained on with his own thirty-eight,
And nobody flinched down by the arcade
And the marquees weren't weeping, they went
On the day of your death people had
Candles but couldn't find no lighter
Fuck your mural! Fuck your hood!
You ain't a street legend like me!
Blake Carrington
The fruit from the poison tree of Bill Blake
I met William's butler yeats, and he met his fate
Guarding those he didn't love and fighting those he didn't
Yeah be the realest shit I never wrote
I ain't write this shit by the way nigga
Some real shit right here nigga
This will be the realest shit you
years, 30 years, 50 years
In the cell feeling drunk like you drunk 80 bills
Homicide though
Genocide when I ride
When we die
Only God knows where
MPC Akai
Who I name William after 'cause I get bills from these beats
Fuck the industry, know we keepin' it real up in these streets
Came up in
on the 5000 dollar bill
My president is black, my Lambo's blue
And I be goddamned if my rims ain't too
My momma ain't at home and daddy still in jail
Tryna
I got by
Creflo pray Mike Vick payed bobby brown stray Whitney lost weight
Kimbo Slice on the pad when I write
That Mayweather money looking funny in
that you can do (Aye)
To keep from ending up black and blue (Aye)
You can't put up a fight
I'll take your life
No where to hide
Nobody lied
Not by your
Church Street blues
maybe pick up a few in the key of B I’m heading downtown just wait and see
Gunna stay right there until I get found got a knock
Words by Rebecca St. James & Bill Deaton
Music by Blair Masters
You can have the money, wheel it, deel it, win it all
You can have a lot of fashion,
the street up
Ice Cube, nigga, you better D up
And when I come by bitch, you better be up
Ass up, face in the pillow
I don't give a fizzle
Got ta do my
a picnic
Take a clip, bitch
Take a Twitpic,? of a big dick
Talkin' too slick, too quick, to a new bitch
Bitch'll teach a trick to a trick
Have a blue dick
rollin' in with them baby blue chucks
And I still got my khakis creased
I'm still rockin' on these beats, and got a bad rep on the streets
Its
the street, now a nigga really married to this shit
I was broke than a bitch, now I'm havin' all this grip
Need blue cheese salad, nothin' added to the mix
Than a thousand with the wicked
Who live and perish by the sword
North Beach Tagging Blues
North Beach Tagging Blues
North Beach Tagging Blues
North
Get it!
Ha ha, Funk Doc in the building, bitch
Y'all already know the business, nigga, ha ha
Yo, let's get it, yeah, I'm with it
Streets
hand in the blue flame
Just to see if we burn
What's a priest to a pimp?
What's a lorde to a whore?
William Blake cleaned windows, I just kick down
Zu)
Dirty, Dirty, Dirty, Brooklyn
Shit is crazy real in the field
I watched niggas blood get spilled over five dollar bills
And major drug deals
A friend of mine was a workin' hard, savin' all his pay
Like Jesse James, the IRS stole most of it away
Then he got chased by a street gang
And he finally
funny
Is it any reason why y'all starvin'
I smell bull and by smelling force
Do I really need to beg your pardon?
My jersey say James I don't play
y'all (that y'all!)
And that's all!
Street's disciple, my raps are trifle
I shoot slugs from my brain just like a rifle
Stampede the stage, I leave
that the love they shared was true
Far away the fiddler's bowing, the grass forever blue
It was in the dead of winter when her man first caught
the back of the head and shanked him with a knife
And that goes for anybody who's gotta pay they dues
You lose, 'cause I got the ill street blues
.jpg "Bill Gaither")
.jpg "Bill & Gloria Gaither")
Discuss these blake street blues by bill gaither 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