Lyrics:
the tribe of Shabazz
Murderous material, made by a madman
It's the mic wrecker, Inspector, bad man
From the bad lands of the killer, rap fanatic
And my old man plays the trombone
And works out at the track
He says that he loves me
Even though its not his baby
He says that he'll raise him up
Hell nah
You can't handle a man of my superior strength
I've been rockin' for years, now it's time to go to length
Bitin' emcees in their tracks
Harry me through the day
Oh, then look for me by moonlight
Watch for me by moonlight
And I'll come to thee by moonlight
Though Hell should bar the way
He
Just like a Dixie lullaby
I left home at eighteen
In a hand me down Chevrolet
Packed my mamas goodness and my old man's stubborn ways
It was
the real, all you crab-crab know the deal)
Let's pay homage to Illmatic
Let's put the crown where it's at
Ten years
Never been done this real by nobody
on the thighs
Pedro dreams of being older
Maybe killin' the old man
But that's a slim chance
He's going to the boulevard
He's gonna end up on the dirty boulevard
the tribe of Shabazz
Murderous material, made by a madman
It's the mic wrecker, Inspector, bad man
From the bad lands of the killer, rap fanatic
the tribe of shabazz
Murderous material, made by a madman
It's the mic wrecker, inspector, bad man
From the bad lands of the killer, rap fanatic
a.k.a mr.enron
u already kno dirty money,clean money, its just money nah'm sayin
bitch
young money,cash money,old money whatever man
its ya boy man
i talk
turn my life around
Oluwa mu mi lo
Oluwa jor jor
Oluwa jor gbe mi so so soke
By now you know the name
See me man I score goals
Like Harry Kane
Spin dem
man by
The side of the road
Just where he came from nobody knows
He's so picturesque, a physical wreck
A dirty old bloke with no self-respect ow!
Oh
up my bro
(Hey hold up, how many you want?
I'm finna meet you right there man, by that cut off 78th and Caselin, aight?)
Young nigga still serving
Soap to clean those dirty hands
And a slap for the people who work the land
Unilever
Man-made hunger
Soap in our eyes
John West is the best
green stuff
Provided to you by sack man
Pacman how in the fuck do you think we gon' do that, man?
Ridin' round Old National on eighteens without no
1...2...
I feel American
I'm feeling Clint Eastwood
I'll be your Dirty Harry and you'll just have me pistol whipped
I'll be your cowboy, you'll
America gone plastic
And now there's Dylan dripping from his mouth
He's hitching himself way down south
To learn a little black and blues
From old
green stuff
Provided to you by sack man
Pacman how in the fuck do you think we gon' do that, man?
Ridin' round Old National on eighteens without no
Head's burnin', wasn't told
To leave, the hood is burnin' down
Never had no help from anyone (I'm Harry, Harry Potter)
Uh, let me tell you 'bout
a metaphor
How many different ways is it to say I'm getting cheddar more
A nigga twice as old way mo' popular need to set at all
Man I just say it to my
pony on my boat
If I were Roy Rogers
I'd sure enough be single
I couldn't bring myself to marrying old Dale
It'd just be me and trigger
We'd go
rang loud I dug two holes in the ground like a dirty dog
Like a dirty ooohhhooohhohooo
I dreamt your face your face by the fireside
I screamed your name
the case. Old and dirty, poor quality leather, and heavy.
Better see what's inside. He turned into Lincoln Park, found an
empty place and opened the case.
spilled from his side
Get on your horse and follow me you're a wanted man he lied
Harry was taken by the law and all thought that Ned was spilling
But Ned
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