Lyrics:
Kill the beat like Vader
I'm swift just like Taylor
Producing all this paper
My drip is like a freighter
Can I ask a big favor
Give me a meal with
yeah
We gonna sail in one of them big fat ocean liners on the street
Swim through this motherfucker
Busta-Bus now, now, now
[Busta Rhymes]
Hop
Funny to see a ghetto nigga so classy
Enchanted by women who speak nasty
Tip toeing to court, went there for the past week
Leaning on my lawyer
don't know, I'll send a bad bih to go and drain on 'em
I been the real me from the start
Taylor Gang Over Everything
They cant' tear this apart
Water
(uh-huh)
Drinkin' every bottle 'til a nigga get nauseous (uh-huh)
Hundred bitches by a nigga, all of them gorgeous (uh-huh)
Hundred thousand on a nigga,
untraceable
And they're explosive head bullets, your favorite
Come here, son
Come here, for a minute
Hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up
Yo, send Bobby
really know
And y'all don't hear me through
Takes a nation of big brains
To break up that flow
And the game ain't changed
But the heads be rearranged
a fuck)
Big-14 know what the fuck goin' on (yeah)
I'm up, up to the ceiling (woo)
You talkin' that shit, then we go do some killin' (killin')
I hang
Paid $100 for some head, nigga
Say you ain't did it!
I know a lick at 4 mil', nigga
Say you ain't with it!
Now if we hit this lick, nigga
& you don't
a hundred shots
Shoot a the bitches by Mr Skippa
I was at her top
Bought a pocket rocket auto cocker
Clear the block Serge Iback
Super kick like Shawn
I've got my black Chuck Taylor's
I've got my bleached-out jeans
I've got my Black Flag shirt
And I got my head shaved clean
I've got my lyric
ed, tell a story of the streets
[big ed]
My nigga jay got his ass snatched, why wasn't he strapped
Kidnapped by four niggas dressed in black
Ahh dats
untraceable
And they're explosive head bullets, your favorite
Come here, son
Come here, for a minute
Hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up
Yo, send Bobby
the sport
Coats of the season
And surrounded by his whole Odd Future crew
The ascendant singer opens up to
Amy Wallace about his crazy
Year including the bomb
you got her head big
Three hundred a line for the Wock', I'm sippin' red still
I know how the feds feel, I make it hard to catch me
Cuz sellin' corn
She scrub em up, her legs that is
Fat puddy cat wit a head that's trill
The type of bitch have a nigga not paying bills
Fo real, by our God damn
Watch out for my Big Head
It needs to be said
She wants to be fed
Watch out for my Big Head
'Cause if I close my eyes
I might swallow you up
Two big
coming by
I done fucked your bitch a hundred times
What the fuck your bitch got on her mind?
My fucking dick
I call her dickhead
Spicy like a Big Red
you ain't bustin' fire, holmes, I'm tradin' yo' ass like Jerry Jones (well, damn)
Gone on and run along, run by myself, I come alone (go)
Drop my
close range
Steady aim, drum at your head to hit the brain
I'm labor ready, Rhode Scholar for the dollar
Work for mines pay me by the hour
We're not
a good nigga, even though I'm able to flip
You pay 30 for the 'Kiss (uh-huh) a hundred for The LOX (yeah)
And if we cool, then I write a hook for a drop
I'm ballin' hard, you should enjoy the seats
I bet this hundred thousand cash, ensure your belief
That if you work hard then this is what you could
what's goin on?)
It's your young nephew Turkey mayne
(What is it boy? What's goin on family?)
There's a lot of shit that need to be said big cousin
(Talk
day I'd watch them beauties roll by
And sometimes I'd hang my head and cry
'Cause I always wanted me one that was long and black.
One day I devised
_(cropped).jpg/276px-Black_Soul_Singer_Johnny_Taylor_Performs_At_The_International_Amphitheater_In_Chicago,_10-1973_(8675935742)_(cropped).jpg "Johnnie Taylor")
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