Lyrics:
like say a, Busta Rhymes
But the real shit you get when you bust down my lines
Add that to the fact I went plat' a bunch of times
Times that by my
It's ninety-three degrees,
And the radio says a storm front's movin' in
Sure is hot
There's a double feature down at the Fox,
But everybody's
alone
By the time I count from one to four
I hear her [KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK] on my door
In the evening when the sun goes down
When there is
has the world come to, I'm from the 3 1 2
Where cops don't come through and dreams don't come true
Like there the god go in his Murcielago
From working
that, me? I make mills off that
How the fuck can't y'all see I ride, when I drive, down the block and
You look outside, H-A-T-E in your eyes, I enter
the evil lives
Post traumatic stress, PTSD
If you from the hood then you just like me
Niggas kick in your door for a PS3
How the fuck do you expect me to be
falling down like pieces into place
And I can picture it after all these days
And I know it's long gone and
That magic's not here no more
And I might be
when I die, straight down, but I'm plottin'
We all gots to go but who wants to be forgotten?
I'm a leave a mark, and it won't be the mark of the devil
the evil lives
Post traumatic stress, PTSD
If you from the hood then you just like me
Niggas kick in your door for a PS3
How the fuck do you expect me to be
The perfume that she wore was from some little store
On the down side of town
But it lingered on long after she'd gone
I remember it well
if I call him on the telephone
And tell him that I'm all alone
By the time I count from one to four
I hear him [KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK] on my
call her on the telephone
And tell her that I'm all alone
By the time I count from one to four
I hear her (knock, knock, knock, knock) on my door
Bruno
Brown bag full of cash, baby, MCM
When they ask me my name, I tell 'em MC him
Straight up
I'm so turnt wheeling in a two door with
Two hoes that
if I call her on the telephone
And tell her that I'm all alone
By the time I count from one to four
I hear her on my door
In the evening when
you love me, yeah
Real poverty in my hood and
That street shit I love, nigga
See me soldiered down and I'm good
I wish you motherfuckin' would
I wish
off-white Lexus
Drivin' so slow, but BK is from Texas
Me, I'm out that Bed-Stuy, home of that boy Biggie
Now I live on Billboard and I brought my boys with
call her on the telephone
Tell her that I'm all alone
By the time I count from one to four
I hear her on my door
In the evening when the sun goes
said (alright)
And I live by the coast of Nostra Cit' (yeah)
Fuck around I'll knock your shoulder from your head (nigga)
Get it right I'm a soldier
With my hood on and my windows down
Ask your girl I'm the realest nigga she been around
When I pull up in something new and park it by the haters
And the wolves yelled (oww) with 6 x 9's rockin
I remember the doors, I remember live aid
And I remember every year jerry lewis god paid
I remember shit live
down the strip on Vogues
Coming up, slamming Cadillac doors
Me and you your momma and your cousin, too
Rolling down the strip on Vogues
Coming up,
what she meant
When she said she got lonesome by herself
She kept callin' to me and I thought
Well since her mama's gone
I'll go up and talk to her
women using children to live on
When I hurt and try to hate cause she knows the thrill is gone
Say man I stop smokin' with haters back in 94
But
planned to do her any harm
So, look here
I put her on the back of my bike
And-a we went riding
Down by old man Johnson's farm
I said now, overcast
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