Lyrics:
really blame you? (Who can really blame you?)
We're the ones who made you
Ahem, back by popular demand
Now pop a little Zantac for antacid if you can
to cheese
Tryin' to pay the rent
You know Kriss, I'm Kross
Y'all ran, we walked
No Limit n****z got ghetto dope by pounds and bults
Blowin' tapes
Oh man
Hi
You guys are so loud
I'm glad I have this moment to
Talk to you because this
Whole thing is going by so
Fast I can't even like, process
I walk on water
But I ain't no Jesus
I walk on water
But only when it freezes (fuck)
Why, are expectations so high?
Is it the bar I set?
My
The club
Why
To party and have some fun
What is it that
Can come and take away all your stress, tell me
Music
No further questions, you have passed
"By And By The Way"
words and music © Grant Maloy Smith
From the album APPALACHIA: AMERICAN STORIES
Deep in contemplation
Praying in my hands
Lord
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
What do I say
Say whatever the heck you want
Be on beat stay on beat
Oh my GOD
Yo here I go
Hey yo I don't know any words
My GOD
Play the Album
gold
And maybe get rich, hol' up
Trinidad Jame$ in four weeks but now my album platinum and shit, so what?
Y'all keep the numbers
I'm more than
higher? (We ain't no higher, we ain't no higher)
I cross sands in distant lands, made plans with the sheiks
Why you beef with freaks as my album sales
smashing ya
I'm here to break records, if that don't work
Take off your shirt, homeboy, and give me your necklace
Why would you not expect this, why have you
(okay)
To his album we ride we so mob (okay, yeah)
I throw lives and lowest to live
For my loaf of bread the people's player
I did what the culture
I'm sorry! I'm sorry
Anyways, let's get-
Let's start, alright?
We- We don't have enough time
So...that's why the album is gonna sound bad?
You're
[Jay-Z]
Turn the lights even lower!
Hova
Memphis Bleek
Beanie Seigel
Roc-a-fella y'all
[DMX]
Jigga, my nigga, rhyme all night
[Jay-Z]
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
to switch the hue 'cause them LA boys smuggy
But more likely to get hurt by somebody who love me
My lady, she don't trust me (nah), know I'm a sick puppy
talkin' 'bout nothin' with a flow so disgustin'
Ashtray by me that I gotta dump my guts in
Need substance, feed it to the public
No one gon' touch it
P-H-I-L-L-Y
North west south west south side
Spit it for them bitches and
Niggas who stay fly
B-Mack, Roc-a-fella till I die
Met Jay, dropped on a album in
very impressed by
The viscosity of the environment
In his new album, "New York, and why
I think it is bitchin" bob Garder
Disguised as an elderly surf
Turn my lights on
How the fuck you quiet with the mic on?
I don't get anxiety, you Sam Bowie-ass niggas
I just get my Mike on
Y'all said I
talk
(I been glorifying how far we came nigga, that's on the Bible)
Ah, yeah
In interviews talkin' Plug talk
Got my name off of drug talk
(Y
really blame you? (Who can really blame you?)
We're the ones who made you
Ahem, back by popular demand
Now pop a little Zantac for antacid if you can
get by (ooh, ooh)
Thousand miles of gravel, I've been walking with no shoes
No matter how far I come, I can't outrun my roots
I think you know
Why
know why you a dog
Know I'm coming for the crown (yuh)
Drop an album, kids want to party
Get them niggas out my house (out)
This is Hidden Hills, how
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