Lyrics:
of fact I'm kinda hoping we can stay together
[Chorus: x 2]
I see you dressed up in white face covered in vail do I hear wedding bells?
My dogs throw
'86 in a Le Tigre short sleeves
Lees, flip the cuffs up, gettin' fucked up
From Old E, Fresh Fest, niggas got hurt
100 niggas rush the door with
who's real and gives you love
You'll see that in time the newsreel with immigrants might come to leave you passive
Where you feel nothing but calm
Calm
the mainstream, supreme rhyme, top of the line
cuisine feens, number one love for thugs queens sceamin on cream
my whole team love e-cup bras and mobb cars
me and Britney, a dancer
Know your shit authentic by the way your hat fit on you, with it
I'm like the Blair Witch nigga in the rented
Curtains in
Tryna touch you
Know you want me to love you
But ik I ain’t right one for you
All in that & I’m tearing it up
One leg down one leg up
Off two
my medals upon my chest
So I could left-right-left in a certain death
God's speed and God bless
In the end I hope God is impressed if I'm put to rest
I
everything in the
Someone help me please universe within the light
Someone help me! Understanding
They already did 2Pac My children, all six
stick in the mall
Never been bitch all I know is go hard
My r and b killers put drake in the car
Step on a opp he go straight in a gar
Step in balencia im
the back seat Queen
I can't blame y'all
I ain't have my own car so I claimed y'all
Couldn't even have you in the crib
Found a way to dig up in them ribs
We
gorillas swear to God that I'm the realiest
My name should be in the bible right up under Preacher Philip
I ain't no killer i ain't no killer but don't let
God Hates Gucci
And
He don't wear Louie
Don't love guns
Guess who yours truly
Young Tim Duncan
With a bun in the oven
Jimmy and Chrissy
We was kissin
Havana Syndrome
God Hates Gucci
And
He don't wear Louie
Don't love guns
Guess who yours truly
Young Tim Duncan
With a bun in the oven
Jimmy
to year
Made Niggas on your motherfuckin shit
2Pac:
(ha ha ha)
Call me a Bad Boy killer
Murder motherfuckers daily
Know the fed trail me
So my
could be spirits in the jewelry I'm shinin' in
I take a hand-written card before I don a gift
A love letter, thanks to my grandmothers
Would sayin'
had a bullet with your name on it, click click
I'm a sex pistol
My love should be illegal
Real deal baby, I'm no counterfeit, click click
Line 'em
from day one you were for me
Who knew that this love would be the legacy
And I'm so happy to say that I know you
My whole life was changed instantly
I'm with this
Complexion (two-step)
Complexion don't mean a thing (it's a Zulu love)
Ooh complexion (two-step)
It all feels the same (it's
a psycho
Got my head in a blizz
And a twitch in my eye cuz I realize
Death is by my side got to pay the ride
With lives and ammo
Trade my soul with the devil
Hippies at the band shell with the L.S.D.
Get my BVDs from VIM
You know I'm reppin' Manhattan the best I can
Stopped off at Bleeker Bob's, got thrown out
Hey yo Queens get the Money long time no cash
I'm caught up in the hustle when the guns go blast
The fool retaliated so I had to think fast
Pull
in the back of my head say
For us two maybe 'cause I love you
Hug you squeeze you touch you tease you
As long as we are together its heaven for
been in that car with Damarcus that flipped ten times
Should've been with Marlin, I'm talkin' bought 'til the end times
Laughing at Martin falling off
on approach
And I was speechless when I spoke just like a leg on my throat
In the past I reached for love, but my hand had been played
She had heart
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