Lyrics:
after dark with that jewellery on
To come see a bitch, that what he get it
We on dark roads with no street lights
That pistol play after fist fights
I'm back back going like I never never left
Plus the boy right here I'm fresh to death (whoo)
Chris Jones on my feet see I can't fall from Suzuki
storming nigga sixteen
Six two, feeling glock with a sick lean
Big dreams, only two words, get green
Which means never had no job
I spit, to keep it
after dark with that jewellery on
To come see a bitch, that what he get it
We on dark roads with no street lights
That pistol play after fist fights
to be no sadder show to see
No doubt about it, satisfaction's guaranteed
So let the sideshow begin
Hurry, hurry, step right on in
Can't afford
to be no sadder show to see
No doubt about it, satisfaction's guaranteed
So let the sideshow begin
Hurry, hurry, step right on in
Can't afford
bad and I'm feelin' fine
'Cause "Who Is Mike Jones" coming
"Who Is Mike Jones" coming
I get you crunk when I open my mouth
My diamonds shine when
stand
Cold dog soup and rainbow pie
Is all it takes to get me by
Fool my belly till the day I die
Cold dog soup and rainbow pie
Ginsberg
the sports car
Everybody wanting satisfaction
But there's no regard for The One who has it
And everybody wantin' grabbin'
But you gotta get it from above
baby you know that I'm bagging you
I had to get a Louis, a bag or two
It is no one that is bad as you
We got new Pateks on Pateks too
Made it
can't do rap
For it's Abstract, original
You can't get your own and that's, pitiful
I know I'd be the man if I cold yanked the plug
On R&B, but I
a monster)
I can't address all the issues I'm dealin' with
I'm goin' bonkers (goin' brazy)
You not meetin' up to my criteria
I'm not responsive (I'm not
together
Progressions can't be made if we're separate forever
I hooked this funky beat with the loop and the feature
With the funky singing by Miss Vinia
And all of a sudden you say a Indiana Jones
An' a thief out gold and thief out the scrolls and even the buried bones
Some of the worst paparazzi's I
He don't mess around boys
He just throws a mean fast ball
Tom Morgan is the angel, gets Nolan in second gear
Then he pitches four no-hitters in about
of people, marching up the avenue
Doin? what they gotta do, just to get by
I'm living in the land of plenty and many
But I'm damn sure poor and I don't
Went around the world in search of satisfaction
Found a lot of different forms of distraction
So I try
But no matter where I ran (I ran)
Can't
trippin'
Can't pretend when this is real as it gets, can ya?
If shit hits the fan, I Ron Artest niggas
This how I'm living, getting tatted in some house
money I know business jones so we can't do losses, profit is sorted like
PETER JONES
Know we is running the game
Got hundred racks in the safe
They copy
sounding like dikes
Allow me to get on and bust like Spike (uh)
Lee, I'm in the majors with no rotation
Through stations of bullshit, I see through like
the man in the vest
Went dancing down the wire.
Cotton candy, apple sweet
I can't get enough of what's bad for me, oh
Satisfaction guaranteed
By
like a submarine
Hip-Hop fiends, like a Jones, for nicotine
Of tobacco so I can't slack yo
Got the knack though, bring it live and that's a fact yo
and cover like an Arabian
Grab a nigga on the spot and put a nine to his cranium
I can't get no satisfaction, niggas won't be lastin
Long, unless they get
the waiter a hundred dollars
To keep the ice cold, alright?
We the last guys to keep the wise guys code alive
If I can't live by my word then I'd much
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