Lyrics:
country station just a blaring on the radio
Pick him up at seven and they're headin' to the rodeo
Momma's on the front porch screamin' out her warning
to be my lady
Its all or nothing to ice
A styless kind of woman
Whose class looks real good
Treats her man the way that she should
One who would
to Rodney King me,
Always tryin'a crown my ass,
Ain't got no class (No Class)
I hit they' ass like the buddah that's stinky,
They want to scruff but,
on its face
They won't make these anymore
It's a wooden coach-n-four
No-one will even steal it
If you leave it by the door
No sign to mark it's going
I see her layin' by the poolside every day
She ain't got a lot on
She ain't got a lot to say
She wouldn't look my way
But, buddy, what do you
all the slaughter and I am in
No mood to be playin' second fiddle, slob on this violin
With no strings attached
I'm just the product of a hostile
sold to the greed and the game
But I just can't let it go, no, I just can't let it go
I wonder if you ever think about it like I do
Seven kids on my
I've been to London, seen seven wonders I know to trip is just to fall
I used to rock it, sometimes I'd roll it
I always knew what it was for
A letter from your home town makes you sad
You read it when the warden's had a second laugh
He said sentimental rubbish ain't got no place in here, boy
See
his one begotten son (Hail Mary nigga, run quick, see)
To lead the wild into the ways of the man
(What do we have here, now? Do you want to ride
[Repeat: x7]
I remember
Back before
The record deal
And the cars
And the cribs
And the way
That things
Took off
I was signin'
At lucy's
I'm motherfucking chicken-shit
To the ones that's tryna play the E
By the time you get to seven, you'll be six feet deep
Number Eight: Make no
us all fools
Like class clowns praying Private Ryan comes round
Sound travels at one thousand, one thirty, feet per second
Niggaz in the street they
Saturday, Sunday (a week)
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday
Seven days a week
Every hour, every minute, every second
You know, night after
your class
No matter how smart any old fool
Is accepted the there's no exams to pass
High grades or low grades you'll get to choose
Your very own class
Over down on the driveway
Fast forward a couple of years and I'm bumpin' that Sade
Fast forward a couple of more and I'm bumpin' that "My Way"
By
Nappy boy (nappy boy)
Whoo!
Three ringz
Yeah, we the class clowns jump shoot
Third time around dog
If I was just to step in the ring
a way to carry on?
Second guess
Did I do my best
There was a friend I had
[Chorus]
Johnny was a weirdo
So what did you expect?
I ain't no fucking
had it with no hot water?)
Nah, show me
(Hold up a second)
What the fuck?
(And then you do it like that)
OK, go ahead ... AHH shit, fuck, that's
hope) I don't come top of the class
Got no brown tongue lickin' ass, can't do what he's asked
Won't do what he's asked
I think I did the right thing
stuck on the edge?
And then you dive in, how quickly you'll forget
You know fears, they capture the way, get by
Now that I'm back in the light, so
to grab my old school tape
Mad with no music, but happy cause free
And the streets to a player is the place to be
Got a knot in my pocket, weighing
(yeah)
And all my shooters shootin' .223's 'bout me, Wop
Pick 'em with the AK-47
Three-sixty-five, twenty-four seven
Percocet got a nigga nose sweaty
What a dynamic entrance
Put a block on the words
This I hear on a train
We had salmon on a bus
At Epsom no races lost
We don't bet we just take
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