Lyrics:
to get rid of the pictures at first it was fun now you drink by the picture sippin on that fifth youngin and that's where the bout start fast forward 20
You ain't never count paper 'til your thumbs hurt
You ain't never had to make do wit' bum work
Shit ain't comin' back, you get delirious
It's
You ain't never count paper 'til your thumbs hurt
You ain't never had to make do wit' bum work
Shit ain't comin' back, you get delirious
It's
to rust
Black clouds in the sky
Light an ink stain spreadin wide
Sunday morning paper where they spelt his last name wrong
Survived by bums and bachelors
bail
Join the army, if you fail
Look out kid
You're gonna get hit
But users, cheaters
Six-time losers
Hang around the theaters
Girl by
drugs by the sea
All these illusions that will swallow what you're trying to be
Everything changes when you turn twenty-one
And all of the strange things
drove by his house, so who you tryin' to dial
If you're lookin' for an answer, you're probably gonna find it now
And to the man in the hat standing
(chea)
9 millimeter guns, gonna be the one, making a million, when I come
Never gonna be the bum, where I come from, niggas better get some
Tried to be
to the hood
Pass them all out on the block, what's good?
I'mma put the Compton swap meet
By the White House
Republican run up, get socked out
Hit the Pres with
jump bail Join the army, if you failed
Look out kid
You're gonna get hit
But losers, cheaters
Six-time users
Hang around the theaters
Girl by
murder type fur was right
(about twenty thousand dollars)
Huh, you heard the price, on my neck hurds of ice!
Vertebrae snapped, gats huh, I swerve 'em
just to see a new view
How we got the same twenty-four but you still broke?
I can't give a bum nigga no excuse (hell no)
Ass on fat, make a nigga look
been smoking on my dope
It's 4 in the morning 20 minutes till I bum
Imma roll a fat gun do a good morning blunt
I've been smoking on my dope
I've been
of trains and sirens
Make lovely music while I sleep
I'm going farther than I ever thought far could be
By twenty one I had a gun and ditched authority
Bang bang same thang game came when I left em
I do it by my lonely now I'm the Big Homie
[Slick Rick]
But I'm his Royal Slickness
slipped
The Mac is cuttin records and punks are gettin ripped
Gangster I am, bust the lyrics like a drive-by
You wanna sleep? Well, it's lights out,
I been in the crib, feet up with a stig
Ten years in this shit
I don’t need a deal, Twenty20 where it is
Free all of my Bloodas doing bids
You go down
this world with a grain of salt
Jesus gave me a wake up call
"It's 3 a.m." she said, "Who are you, Matchbox 20?"
She said, "Are you getting rest?"
a letter from my old best friend
Doing twenty-five in the federal pen
Wanna come home but he said until then
Could I look over his three children
They
can't pull the plug on a catapult (nope)
I toss a nickel to a bum's cup from twenty paces thumbs up
Got twenty ways to tell you shut the fuck up
Nineteen
feet shawty thought I was a broom
I'm a dark nigga (aye), call me Game & Watch (so dark)
Know I stay lit like a matchbox (hot)
Back in twenty-ten had
jeans and boots ta
Move by the millions and children stay rough
But uh one for the road, til I get whetted
Try to riff and conflicts get deaded!
Gats
lungs
Zaza make it pierce my lungs
Zaza make it pierce my lungs
Zaza make it pierce my lungs
Why these raps niggas look like bums
Boy you sit down, you
being shackled to the paper
Broke free while hitting my in the pen dance
SellYourArtNotYourSoul
Waking 'em up with my internal matchbox
Rising Under
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