Lyrics:
like it’s Tekken
Hol up
Wait!
Know I’m finna pop shit once mo
Man but a nigga not macho
Big bankroll fulla hunchos
Elbow drop nigga top rope
How would i
Yo, huh, what, yo huh, what, yo, yo, yo, huh, what, yo, huh, what
I'm in a state of yo
So if I go to the spliff that I passed
Mix it back with
Bring out the he-cats my fellow man blurted out.
Bring out the she-vixens! We need to release those musky macho scents.
So we're smelling nice, rocking
a zagga xans
From the middleman to the Macho Man
I've been talkin' shit up in Diddy house
Went to Disneyland, talked to Mickey Mouse
Then I figured out
with wings
preaching his word in the B. Boy sing
I AM one with myself as I turn to The
I prefer the dreams to reality
I prefer my life don't need no
Dolce & Gabbana
She feed them foolish fantasies, they pay her 'cause they want her
I spit a little G, man, and my game got her
A hour later have that
Don't need to rob banks with dike broads to Set it
I levitate to the occasion, lounge like a lyricist
Rhyme wise, you a rest haven
You sat by
you got heat
And a gang of cash under the seat
Man, fuck! I knew this deal was too sweet
Now we in a heap, of shit that's too deep
It was hard
can
Understand what I really mean to say
Understand, ain't just another macho man
No
Lyrics and music by Doug Jacobs ©SACEM 1993
codeine fiends
OG by the OZ, and I still owe the weed man down the street
Monster magic off them Xannies, I might have me one
Mix it with the syrup,
a Birkin, I'm yellin'
Screamin' and cursin'
I'm putting pistols in faces
At random places like
Bitch, give it up or stand adjacent to Satan
Bad man chillin',
Dolce & Gabbana
She feed them foolish fantasies, they pay her 'cause they want her
I spit a little G, man, and my game got her
A hour later have that
Man, you niggas don't know how long I've been grindin', bruh
Yeah Mane, real shit real spit
I'ma give it to you, how you want it?
In the jungle
I mix the 4Hunnid with the designer, nigga
Stay laced up
On Bloods
Stay laced up
I just bought me a handgun and that shit came with the drum
Call me mister galley-man
I stay with bananas
My bitch don't drink
Mix the purple in the fanta
Call me mister galley-man
I stay with bananas
My bitch
I mix the 4Hunnid with the designer
Stay laced up
On Bloods
Stay laced up
I just bought my band drums and that **** came with the drum
Do
to the bass, c'mon
Turn up the radio
They claim that I'm a criminal
By now I wonder how
Some people never know
The enemy could be their friend, guardian
Two chains!
Bang bang switch lanes like a drive-by
I am so fly man I might as well sky dive
Black girls white lies
You know that's not your damn
Back in the days, into the chamber 36
Big Tig' putting it down in dirty mix
Provided by EQ
Test me and my crew, guarantee you lose
Man your whole crew
Hegemony, aggressive and rejective
A fallacy where your self-worth is measured by the clothes in which you stand
I don't need your rat-race, I've got a rat
I just got flavor
Don't need no water to mix up this juice
They say, "Why your chained? It look like a choker?"
That's for the slaves that had
to Heat it up
I state the stats to stunt, I don't need to front
Make Black history every day, I don't need a month
The survey says, by the streets
Is this fast or normal speed?
Yea, knawsayin?, yea, Table of Contents
Fuckin wit it, one two, it's the Table of Contents, come on
Uh yea, uh huh,
Disrespect, I shoot ya
By the way, them bricks, get flipped weekly
Sold by soldiers that mix weed with the leak leak
Die for a dollar nigga, life ain't sweet
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