Lyrics:
Yeah this song is dedicated in memory of mister Terell Alfago Davis
Mister Davis was gunned down at the hands of two Richmond County
Sheriff's
Mix 'em all together and your work can be seen
For sixteen miles by the naked eye, not to mention T.V.
The American media, greedier than the average
My True Love
Lyrics by Eric W. Smith (ASCAP)Music by Phil Davis
Produced by Phil Davis for Ph.D. Productions
Vocal Production/Arrangement by Palmer
And when you go get faded, wanna be debated by yo barber (By yo barber)
Compared to Shawn, Wayne and Vince to complete the Carters
Been on the bench
stop but you can get out the truck, you want to be down?
be down while we stay up , droppin bombs bout to blow up
so now you must hold up
From them to grow they wings
This that hezi
In and out
Cross cross
Tween
Change speed
The real ballers got bag
Determine what they need to use
By where
And when you go get faded, wanna be debated by yo barber (By yo barber)
Compared to Shawn, Wayne and Vince to complete the Carters
Been on the bench
Fuck all that hate, cause I know I'ma make it
If it ain't givin' to us, then we take it
Niggas be crossin' like Anthony Davis
I got my guard up, I
The sound of the waves on the embankment
A phone in my left pocket
I'm leaving, you're staying
A forgotten city by me
You're so beautiful, my dream hasn't
Games when we blow
Thirty-mile fake
Bring ‘em up late
Set it down
This fate gold enough
Big bank rolls holding up
No waits in the pub
Same for the drugs
desired, admired
Be the one you wanna go the extra mile for
I wanna blow your mind
Even though we both know we would never work
I just wanna feel wanted
Have
Green sky this time your trouble is a half-mile wide
Green, Green sky hold your breath and it might blow by
Now he's a double-clutching weasel a-grinding
been a ride
Never imagined this day would come that I'd say goodbye
Cause my life used to move by so slow but now I end up flying
Through the PHS parking
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he's moaning
"You Belong to Me I Believe"
And someone says, "You're in the wrong
Jeremy Davis on the bass guitar
Alright, you try this up for me
Ba-da-ba-ba-da-ba-ba-da
Ba-da-ba-ba-da-ba-ba-da, go
Ba-da-ba-ba-da-ba-ba-da
an MC when I can't get my travel on?
Can't bring no babby home, cause every morning I'm gettin sweated by Babylon
The only way out is to max out and give
blow hundred miles
Hundred miles, honey baby, lord, lord, lord
An' you'll hear that whistle blow hundred miles.
An' I'm playin' on a track, ma'd
me you need your plan your long heavity
Before you die broke like Sammy Davis junior
The solar, followed by the looter, followed by the solar
of leaves and tiny streams
Conducted by the wind that blows against our window seams
Piano could not beat her melancholic tunes
Guitar is just too weak for
feds
Wind blows, passin bye-bye
Move ahead, hundred miles, my nigga, nothing more and nothing less
Gather round, around the table, get the children fed
Are you scared?
Devil without cause, and I'm back
With the Beaver hat and Ben Davis slacks
30-pack of Stroh's, 30-pack of hoes
No rogaine in
plastic surgery.
Went from 34B to 36 double D.
Met her in San Diego at the Super Bowl party.
Had the Heiny sipped it up, wit Terrell Davis.
MVP, we
Ima grab and Randy Moss that
Touchdown or the pick 6
Ima pull up on you real quick
Heavy hitter's power like Gervonta Davis
Off the scrimmage we gon
born out in the a Illinois
Now a young nigga making iller noise
We blow in on that killer boy we bout to light it up in the dark
Then We coming through
_(profile).jpg/243px-Illinois_Jacquet,_New_York,_N.Y.,_ca._May_1947_(William_P._Gottlieb_12581)_(profile).jpg "Illinois Jacquet & His Big Band")
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