Lyrics:
don't care
You always call a freak, by the garment they wear
Instead of call it clothes they always callin it gear
Big derriere to make the next man
nice
So it's old flows, new flows, goals go, do blows
Now I'm on the road doing shows for some euros
Asking how I done it, man, I did it by the grace
of Crooklyn, type Saturday night
The gear the god was rocking type way out of sight
Limping past the projects
Seen my man, a'ight
Steelo type fat, solar type
living in my cave
I'm bringing new meaning to
The term 'I'm saved'
I'm like a mountain man, unshaved
Walk through ice and fire unscathed
I'm living proof
up, my dear
I like to keep you in suspense
Leave your number
Stay by the phone
Leave your gear
Get to the drop zone
Leave your number
Crack that
How's it goin' there everybody,
From Cork, New York, Dundalk, Gortahork and Glenamaddy.
Here we are in the County Clare
It's a long, long way from
front of his building with the rest of his friends
I give him a pound no I mean I shake his hand
He's the neighborhood drug dealer, my man
I go
Doing the world a disservice if he chooses
Not to find something to say
Won't you try something new
Put yourself into gear
All you need is to keep your
and I were made to live through more
Yeah
Shoutout to the most high, made a nigga so fly
Not a day goes by I ain't been that dude
You got that fire
thugs
Fo doves blow dubs holdin eight snub
I hold it down my strip, goin nowhere
Flip two eightballs trick the dough on low gear
The next week two O's
at the light, and I'ma dust ya Porsche
Cause I'ma dope MC, and I'm down by law
Fremelay her on the way to New York
To you MC's, who jock my style
You better
midnight
Brand new pack of cigs
A fresh one hanging from her lips
A beer between her legs
She'd ride down to the river
And meet with all her
New Haven (yeah)
'Till I find the right man, my virginity I'm savin' (uh huh)
The things I was sayin', honey might be blazin'
I took her
when I'm on the mic, I do serve well
And I go by the name of the Rapper Jalil
*Four minutes left*
Now sit back, relax, put on your head gear
Get ready
I'm standing there
Questioning the purpose of my rap career
Thinking "man, what the hell happened here?"
Fells like yesterday in a van packing gear
Followed by three more boys and then a baby girl
Momma loved me, T.T. Uncle Jay
loves you to death won’t let no trouble come your way
Oh, can’t forget my man
Yeah man
Which one of these cars you gonna use
I might use the Celica, the Mazda, Nissan or Toyota
I heard they got that new PT Cruiser on there
‘That bald spot in ya
Wallet oughta be toupee'd’
Touché, yet all we do is go loose change
For new slaves
And loose chains for brother man
Give em
I like the old ones and I like 'em new
Everything about them fits my attitude
No matter where they're going or where they're from
I like to watch
Brand new sound and the space goes
Doosh
Step it up a gear and the place goes
Crowd so dense gonna make you
Push
Anybody fucking with The Hell goes
Doosh
of the Soul who present a new flick
Every last viewer is tuned to the method
Known to be a method, no magicians, not a trick
Bitten by the spoken who been
focused
Via mechanical Dartmoor Frankensteined poorly
And sanctioned by a New Yank Yorkee
Who knew that any moment he could lose it to the decopaged
fresh
(Gear) always dipped (honey) always bangin'
(You hot?) Always, my niggy nuts always hangin'
Hold it down, rocks by the pound
The new 2002
and a lubricant were by his side but
The tin man was inanimate, the lion lied
They did not want to see me go
But I did not want to be another muskateer
Plus the gas
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