Lyrics:
be United like Stateside
I would have blown up by then like Joe
Me and broski just vibin' with it
Are you hearin' the beat? Man's slidin' with it
Keep it real Terricks yo Waddle
Explosion I'm about to blow
We don't give up for this syd oh no
Me ne Gvng step ohoo
Swag on fleek
Dix is by the way
Big
homies look shady like marshall mathers
we smashin the car like a rock guitar
mill tj so popular
im ridin joe on the way to the club
big stunna shades with
the beat like it's my only son, my DNA
And this that southern playeristic like we was in the eight
Back in the day, I was young, broke and infamous
Uh
When I was eight I was rhymin', not backyard game playin'
Watchin' Snoop anxiously and waitin' for my chance, man
Hot and cocky wit' it
wasted
Niggas love tryna put my back where the walls facin'
Big body frames, wasn't into car racin'
Me and Chubbs drive by, shorty heart racin'
I
I may not look it but I
Went to an art school, y'know
And I stole like
eight crates of acrylic before I
Tripped the alarm
Anywho, what can I do for
forty-eight
They knew almost every single customer by name
Everyone bought everything from Joe and Betty Jane
Time marches on and that little store is gone
But
something they’ll remember
Before they crown us kings, rest in peace young simba
We have come this far by faith, leaning on the Lord
But now you got to get
real good
Been wearin' the same clothes 'bout eight days
When they cut the 8 ball when they flipped it eight ways
I don't feel clean, but a nigga so
[Chorus: x8]
This a trap
This ain't no album
This ain't no game
This a trap (trap muzik)
Welcome back to the trap
Niggas back in the trap
Baby girl, I'm the man from around my way
We can roll about a 8th
Give a f**k what a n***a gotta say
Don't you know? Better tell somebody
Better tell
a mil before my album hit the shelves
And I ain't talkin' bout no signin' bonus (uh-uh)
'Tics went platinum to remind ya homey
I'm not a restroom so
That go to show this ass
Kicking ain't gon bother nigga
Cause it's right back where
You started nigga
Being a son of a Harlem nigga
Now you was made by
to better myself is when I'm bet against by everyone else
So Joe hit the head on the nail
You ain't seen God 'til you starin' down a barrel
I was gun shy,
Uh
When I was eight I was rhymin', not backyard game playin'
Watchin' Snoop anxiously and waitin' for my chance, man
Hot and cocky wit' it
freakin' by a garbage can
The next young freak, I met was Red
I took her to my house and she gave me head
She like blowin' dicks, is all she said
Rewind the clip
Yeah, I'll start by taking back
It's Spring of '17
Sitting shotgun there in my car
You said celebrities are sad, no matter how big or small
far from the binoculars
So, that smart money finna get that heat out the car
Yo, I'm K-Dot Lamar meets 2Pac Shakur
I got profiled by a few cops, too
Shopp, man
We... y'know finally reachin' the end of this album and I just wanna thank y'all, like...
I was never a big fan of doin' the whole long talk
They talkin' big, baby
They, they talkin' big, baby
They talkin' big, baby
They, they talkin' big, baby
[Chorus]
They don't wanna play
They
to heal the pain
big enough to bring you wit me
Big enough to bring back joe
Big enough to bring jo Ann
Big enough to bring my nana
Big enough to bring back
Artist: DJ Envy f/ Jay-Z
Album: Blok Party Vol. 1
Song: H.O.V.A.
Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash
[Jay-Z] + (DJ Envy)
Yo uh, dim
And Reason Number Nine I Was Whippin Eights And Nines
Reason Number 10 By Then You'll Be Fine
I Never Sold A Million Records But I Sold A Million Dimes
No
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