Lyrics:
non-GMO juices just may do it
I heard it can get smelly, so will leave that sense in the enemy
Reverse the script, feed all the hot busty blondes
of hip-hop
If I see ya disagreeing, you'll be getting your shit dropped
It's extended version, the side you can't fuck with
You'll get the jimmy MC, you're
say now
Not today, cause I don't need a way out
Learnin' the line, it's a version of mine This allergic to time, like a nursery rhyme
Jill went up
hand, then you switched it
That's the only reason why your shorty's on my hitlist
I touched her soul, it's like shorty asian
We rock and we roll
This life
far up your ass
Putting your whole shit up on blast
I called your bitch a man and laugh
Hot like 'Winsky on Bills shaft
Don't get smart, kill the sass
back, be smokin'
Ain't cut my wings (Cut my wings)
But please don't get outta hand
You'll be the new version
Of running man, yeah, yeah
Hope you
(Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up)
A spark by midnight
(Get up, get up, get up)
Shootin' 'round, movin' white
Ooh, baby, the block's hot just
ready we get it together
You got a plan I'm all for it
Your emotions override logic
Really it's non-void
Can't say you run by how you feeling
But really
of your troubles, grab a chair, and cool out
Turn up the stereo, light up the blunt, and crack the Guiness Stout
(Mike, you don't drink that!) Yeah, but
everything by hand
With books and wells
We could color with crayons
We could put together puzzles
We could read about triumphs
We could read about struggles
front, you all out punks on the hunt for some beats
To make your next LP complete
(Here we come) To make the crowd scream for the Clan
One by one
don't let that worry your son
For when he grows up and gets blown out of here
Have yourself a (really)
Tour-de-force (yearly)
Non-de-plume A-tomic bomb
I'm walking up you be tucking your chain
We out for blood I be making it rain
Keep talking shit you'll get hit with the blade
Pick up a brick I ain't
dreams of Caprices
Drove by the teachers, even more by polices
How'd he get the cash? The day his father passed away
Left him with a lil' somethin',
dreams of Caprices
Drove by the teachers, even more by polices
How'd he get the cash? The day his father passed away
Left him with a lil' somethin',
Seemin Like They World Is Staged
But From Georgia To Bk And All Around The World
Get Your Hands In The Air If Your Avoiding The Cliche
If You've Been Hurt
promise
To get what we need
Gotta be much louder
Louder than the other
To rise up against those corrupted by greed
Gotta stand up faster than the shutter
cheat, gotta steal
Gotta kill just to get by
I smoke emcees to get high while perceivin the lies
Sayin my drive is all wrong, but at least I can ride
(loved)
Standing by the window questioning if dad is ever going to show up (up)
Isn't something he's gon' have to worry about
Don't get it twisted, that
the hardest
And a hand full of CD's ready to burn
Some real hip hop for your listening nerves
A year later hooked up with a nigga named Murs
Now everybody
buildin'
Eh yo, real niggas get up, live niggas, what up?
We don't give a fiduck, you faggots'll get hit up
Q.B., what up? Y.O., what up?
Shaolin, get
you have for the west coast, is criticism and disrespect
So I say to you and your city
Y'all niggas will never get our respect again
Westside nigga
dined hired up
When your times up
The Lord made his mind up
Everlasting torment for all you snakes who played foremen
I got pains in my stomach
I
that
You had to get woken up
By a huge backslap
To the face by a case of the drowsies
Feeling lousy and pouty
Because now you're all crossed up
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