Lyrics:
here's your chance
Doin' eighty on the freeway, police, catch me if you can
Forgive me, I'm a rider, still, I'm just a simple man
All I want is money,
their property
Word to Samson, the tongue will get you hung
I had a friend, they murdered his father and his three-year-old son
I heard him cursin'
I need good luck just like a clover, feeling like it's over
17 years sober had to pull over
One man's trash is another man's treasure
I gotta make
we were hanging by the pool
Doritos on our sandwiches, like man we were cool
Happened all the time, and those days just flew by
Sky high, like you with
I beat yo' ass twice and you still here
Seven years old, think you run this house by yourself?
Nigga, you gon' fear me if you don't fear no one else
of your old commodores
Man was I glad to see them
There was Earnest Tubb Marty Robbins Red Foley
Lefty Frizzell Tennessee Ernie Ford
I dreamed I was there
Paying bills and getting paid
It's the easiest way to follow
Choice I'm expected to make
But I am too afraid to lose
My 17-teen year old soul
Trapped by
to disagree?"
So Bernice bobs her hair and is instantly ensnared
In a trap so well prepared by Marjorie
Her hair was long, her hair was dark
Her hair fell
I got more love than anything else
But a Jezebel spirit gonna steal my health
Struck by the notion that it just might be
A method to the madness that
old back room
He'd bob his head and say, "Damn, oh, that's you?"
But by The Black Album, I was blackin' out
Party at S.O.B.'s and we had packed
Cause you need a lot more ones and guns for this
Me and my mans is bout to spit some hot shit
Yeah, one two
Bout to spit that, hot shit
Huh whoo! Yeah
what?
(to get my man see we bout to spit some) HOT SHIT
What? No doubt.. HOT SHIT!
[Common]
Old men see visions young men dream dreams
I rock the planet
old back room
He'd bob his head and say, "Damn, oh, that's you?"
But by The Black Album, I was blackin' out
Party at S.O.B.'s and we had packed
heart that it wasn't right
And he knew that he needed to get away from it
Now I want you to also imagine, that at 17 years old
This child, okay, leaves
can get a man to do anything but she's a
Lost little girl
This sexy thing is only 17 and she's a
Lost little girl
I admit I get a lot of love from
I was on my way to Mobile
Stopped in for some gas
Swiped my card and turned around - saw an old friend from the past
He said, 'man, I can't believe
Just another area
That shows I got soul
I got soul, you see, I'm swimming in the De La
I'm in my hood, man, my manhood worries ya
I'm known for
pass 'em the Oscar
From the new school rappers, yeah I'm the illest on the roster
Smoke like a rasta
Black and white like Bob Marley, yeah, like Bob
Patrick, you see, I'm growing a mustache
And though I know I must ask you
Does it really make me look like a man?
SpongeBob, being a man is just
That old fashioned word, it's a word called love
Called love, called love
Oh, this must be the way the nigga 'Pac felt when he made
"Me Against
and the mean
Sent to meet their maker, thanks to Victory 17
You can see it in their faces, when Old Glory passes by
As they raise their glass to the fallen,
We made Oklahoma a little after three
Randy, his brother Bob, and my old GFC
We had some moonshine whiskey and some of Bob's homegrown
We were so
coming by
I done fucked your bitch a hundred times
What the fuck your bitch got on her mind?
My fucking dick
I call her dickhead
Spicy like a Big Red
Hercules!
Break it down!
Break it down!
Break it down!
Yo Bob, show that old school sucker punk what real hip hop is boy
"How Ya Like Me Now?" I'm
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