Lyrics:
a Eastside
Party - Eastside!
You know it's crackin' like that -
Why you actin' like that?!
Hand me your glass - let me pour
You some yak - that's landy!
Now if
motherfuck Snoop, motherfuck Death Row
Yo, and here comes my left blow
Cause I'm the E-A-Z-Y-E and this is the season
To let the real motherfuckin' G's in
education
And I’m sure this will end up online
So I don’t want to diss anyone at
The American Academy, I’m sure it’s equal to
The Art Institute of Chicago by
EV''RYTHING PASS YOU BY, YOU'RE ONLY HERE ONCE
AND I'VE BEEN HERE LONGER THAN MOST OF YOU."
SO STOP AND TAKE THE TIME TO BUY THIS ALBUM,
SO I CAN PLANT ROSES
wife-beaters, white t-shirts, white-
I'm the greatest
So you sold 10 million albums, eh? (What?)
Only problem is, you put out 10 million albums, eh? (Haha)
done told you niggas
Nine albums, stop fucking with me
I done told you niggas
The 9 on me, stop fucking with me
You niggas must got nine lives
9th
tired of your Shit
You don't never buy me nothin'
See every time you come around
You got to bring Jim, James, Paul, & Tyrone
See why can't we be by
(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
(Baby, you know, you know, you know I need your love)
You cannot find no one better than this
Try to do right by you, but we can't mix, I tried
for each man (Damn)
Then I scrapped that, 2 albums are now shelved
A personal hell completely composed by myself (Mmm)
But this one's workin', dropped
either with a dime or a bad duck
Double-R tee with the matchin' bandana
38-snub, blue steel with no hammer
And I see y'all niggas tryin' to glance
outselling you
By 29 I had three albums that had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I don't really do
Go in someone's daughter's mouth stealin' food
But
Downtown New York
Last floor, penthouse view
Still thinking I still want more
Oh y'all want more?
20 Track album ready, mixed, mastered, done, finished by
means "victory helper"
Whole name means "protector"
Shorten it by two letters, without the I-R at the end
The reincarnated Gil Scott livin' in
joint
Every album since then always been on point
(Thank you) videos and big shows is hardcore
So why you think your albums haven't sold more?
Well
bigger than Godzilla's back, nigga
You are not real and in fact, you'll feel the effect
Of a crack dealer, y'all president sends me smack
And got a Mack
When homeboys put vogues on any car
With 6 by 9's smoking burner
Everybody got addicted to my dope fiend beat
Whole town fucked around and started
It's the return, East Atlanta, Santa!
Off the wall, off the chain
Off the top, I'm off the leash
So many freaks coming by the spot
Had to move,
bigger than Godzilla's back, nigga
You are not real and in fact, you'll feel the effect
Of a crack dealer, y'all president sends me smack
And got a Mack
ain't got me
Yet so y'all don't stop me
See a stampede of fake cats
Runnin' from Bill Cosby
What does he gotta do with you doin' you?
Y'all know
(Fuck all you hoes! Get a grip, motherfucker!)
Yeah, this album is dedicated
To all the teachers that told me I'd never amount to nothin'
To all
of the shadow of death
When niggas hold tec's like they mad at the ref
That's why I keep a cross on my chest, either that or a vest
Do you believe that Eve had
Watch
Watch
Y'all niggas overdoin' it
You gotta slow that shit down
Take your time, reevaluate your shit, it don't matter (watch)
Niggas ain't
made
Visions of cops and sirens
Niggas open fire
Bunch of Thug Life niggas on the rise
Until I die
Ask me why I'm a boss player gettin' high
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