Lyrics:
want me dead but they scared to step to me
Rip they guts out like a hysterectomy
When beef collide look on the flip by the penitentiary kite
Or get
Most niggaz want titles and they, rap for fame
I'm the Ghetto Bill gangsta, best hustling in the rap game
Homies run they mouth in the hood like Jose
got million dollar schemes, you know I plot for the cake
Couple old school Chevys and a spot by the lake
Ride so clean, ain't trippin' if I'm stopped
not the one you hold it against
Baby, its not my blame
Yeah, you independent as hell (oh)
And doin' it by yourself (yourself)
But what you gon'
not the one you hold it against
Baby, its not my blame
Yeah, you independent as hell (oh)
And doin' it by yourself (yourself)
But what you gon'
nobody is equal,
I can’t be a part of something so deceitful!
[Hook]
I am not driven by family or tradition,
I am not driven by family or tradition,
I am
a book by a cover
Or the title of a song
You probably never been right
Feel like I'm all alone
Losing my grip again, keep hold
It's been a long time now
by Cee but her name was Ciara
Light brown skin, she a real go getter
We vibes off the bat like a home run hitter
Pick her up at 6, then we off
Hoes nieder
Denn ich bin King und führ das Game so wie früher das Leben eines Dopedealers
Majoe, Banger Musik, schwänger Ciara
Und frag mich „Wann
I'm by myself
All alone I'm by myself
Ooh I should've known that you ain't never feel what I felt
If I don't like some shit you do you call me psycho
Float surrounded by deep thoughts
I got some females I can't drop
When the deep thoughts hit my mind
Roses fall and then birds flock
Best friend,
of "Silent Night, Holy Night" with a song that was sung to me at my bedside as a child, namely the "Lullaby" by Johannes Brahms, to a text by Clemens Brentano.
Not talking bout racks I don't want talk no more
A hook by Young I'Sa a 10 fasho
I was dripping I had the Givenchy coat
It came with the title we
AMR Beats what we got?
All you G
Yeah, ties close, I whittled 'em down
Stick it to 'em by sticking around
The gang all on Iwo Jima
Got one
Sweeney
Title say that's "Prod. by db (G!)"
Oh, mickeys? Mine's not mini
You got hickeys? Not mine, sweetie
Got ya misty-eyed, bye bye
No, I
Uh, don't know
to a necklace
Adidas suit flier than shell toes
Maneuver in the coupe, the roof by my elbows
Niggas wanna be me, bitches wanna date me
Young black and rich so
wrong
If you learn to croon this happy tune
They call it Sam's song
"And now another treatment of this
Classic American Theme
Brought to you by
Sassoon, chrome tones hear the moans of Al Capone
Gun POW to the dome
And split the bone, wig blown off the ledge
By the alleged, full-fledged, sledge RZA
spraycan stories is the jam's title
reminiscing on many a days of being a writer
getting chased raided but mostly getting shit painted
a pain in
My speakers knocking when i'm all by my lonely
We getting distant, I think we finna ghost her
She only want titles and for me to post her
I hit my best
lost I be caught between thoughts
I had to suffer by myself
Had to fix my own heart
It's not that easy even with a fresh start
You fix somebody just
signed that damn title
And watched you stomp on my heart, now you're my damn rival
By your side, don't wanna be here anyway
I said why, watched you take
Buddha
I'm a Christian man
I only follow Christ man
Don't really, don't like how I'm moving now (Uh)
They really don't like me (Yeah)
But I guess
By
Japanese car
Stick shift sprint drift
Wheel worn soft by her fingertips
Matte black hatch back
Thirty one miles on a gallon of gas
Cheap Japanese car
Cheap
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