Lyrics:
I met you in a club in Atlanta, Georgia
Said me and my homeboy were coming out with an album
You looked at me like, "Yeah, nigga right"
But you
Rock ya like Chubb, and burn scrubs like a dumb-dumb
Remember Redman, last album I was Hardcore
Now I'm back to tear the frame out your assCRACK
did the first one
Five album run, now the cursed one, it's a blessed one
By the time y'all hear this, we be half way through the next one
Bless up
Owww!
Get on down [x3]
[Erick Sermon]
Well, it's the E wit the juice, I'm down to get loose
Strapped in black wit the nine by the boots
The Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer of the Roc
I take my chain, my 15 seconds of fame
And come back next year with the whole fucking game
Ain't nobody expect
a relationship
Hit's that T-section
And one person's going one way
And you're going the other and try
As you might to either
Get them to go your way or
Try and go
headshot
Drill shit up the pole
Pure shit, 40 Glock
Kill snitch, run, but you still hit
Ratpack 'em, jump 'em, gun butt 'em, rub 'em
He fight back
off the backboard
Fuck a Grammy, that is not what I come back for
I came for hip-hop, niggas forgot to lock the back door
Live by the code, die by
official
Let me tell you when it all started
Game dropped Documentary and
Made plenty enemies
It was a classic album, but prior to that
Guerilla Black
(Wheezy outta here)
Yeah, yeah, I'm in this bitch, yeah, I'm back
Ah, ah, I hit the club on the up, you can come with the racks (uh, come with
it back to Nasty if I want to
Some young dumb crazy muthafucka from the hood
Yo what time is it, Hit?
It's yo time, bro
Yeah, you know what?
Rock ya like Chubb, and burn scrubs like a dumb-dumb
Remember Redman, last album I was Hardcore
Now I'm back to tear the frame out your assCRACK
Words & Music by
Ed Bruce and Jim McBride
He could never pay her back
For all she's done for him
She never asked for more
Than what he could afford
lettin' off much steam
In the Carhartt flannel and the dusty jeans, baby
I never was cool with James Dean, but I be hangin' tough
With my man Jim Beam
I
apparel's where it's at
So stand back, we flash a nine before the jack and squeeze triggers
Blazin at one-hit wonder niggas like smoothe da hustler
I still
my trick ain't for kids, if you dig 'em, you'll get smacked
I'll clock ya, I'll spring forward, you fall back
Every album that I drop has got more
and made up (made up)
Now we got 'em jumpin' back on the bandwagon
When we gon' drop? That's all they keep askin'
When we do this shit we'll hit the fan
Elijah Williams, Carlos Franco
Gabriel Ellis shout out to all my niggas
In Paris and New Jersey
Aight, I gotta go work back on my album
It's classic,
tough
With my man Jim Beam
I swing low like a chimp, back in '86
Then I was seein' a shrink
But now I'm humble and I can only think
About New
on the next
corner, get out and let the 30-30 cock the loogie
Tryin to set me up like Jim Kelly, MUY, MUY
Before I hit somebody they say, "We ain't do
halla to rock it
You know where I'm at, you know where I'll be
You know what I'm about,
You wanna see?
Ball the team, ball machine
Back, back, back, scar
Swimmin' in the money come and find me, Nemo
If I was at the club you know I balled, chemo
Dropped the mixtape, that shit sounded like an album
Who'd have
Musty fusty yet so crystal clear
The non commercial set is now here
Brought to you by the will of positve people
K are S plus One equals
i seen ups and downs hit
but i aint never heard him sound the way that he sounded
it really caught a nigga by surprise, i was astounded
he a real
Discuss these by back hits album jim croce 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