Lyrics:
DON'T WANT ME, DON'T WANT ME AROUND, I'M THE ONLY ONE BOY THEY CAN COUNT ON
I SWEAR THE MONEY GETTING LOWER AND LOWER AND LOWER
(Prr Prr ) WAITING
and
Nigga I'm home on these charts, y'all niggas visitin'
It's Hov tradition, Jeff Gordon of rap
I'm back to claim pole position, holla at ya boy
Get up,
you're unsure don't touch the handle Love to have you by my side baby I apologize
(Please sacrifice)
Some of your time don't want to make this about
see Slade and tell him hey whats up
If this song wasn't on replay then you probably playing track one
Because you can go through this album and find
before you today to bring you a sample of our work
An LP, if you will
The creation of this album sought to bring us closer together
To have all of us in
constantly tryin' to find a reason why
Because I'm a Bad Boy they wanna label me a bad guy
Now who am I?
It's P. Diddy muthafucka
Do or die?
Don
your lover
I'm getting the backend don't stay at no Weston
Drizzy inspired can't go back for the negatives
I look like I'm puff by the way that I'm
one nine nine trey
We supplied y'all bangers
I be rockin them beats WillIam not
No funny clothes and shit, I compose the shit
First off I birthed y'all
start a revolution, ayy
Y'all want solutions
It starts with retribution
Boy this album is a killing spree I call that execution, ayy
I'm from the mud
the phone down boy stop filming that
You gone have everybody where wayne Williams at
Haa
Niggas got guns on the plane like con air
Man these niggas so green
me in the block holding
If you see me rolling by
Remember that you don't know me (you don't know me)
*whistling*
Come here boy, sit booboo sit
good
an opinion
That is out of line
With the status quo at least
You are allowed to be
Objectified by men and dress like a slut
But don’t own
Your sluttiness and do
love
And street passion, every ghetto needs a thug mansion
Dear momma don't cry, your baby boy's doing good
Tell the homies I'm in heaven and they
love
And street passion, every ghetto needs a thug mansion
Dear momma don't cry, your baby boy's doing good
Tell the homies I'm in heaven and they
boy)
{Word?} Ain't he a Reverend now, collectin plates
At churches and shit?
(He's spittin flames right now baby
He at the top of his game, right
Philippe
We got a different reach
I'm global plus your boy a mogul
A million pounds at the
Ranch house in Acapulco
Rare Polo and vintage lenses
I'm whippin'
the message you on cc now
I make you albums sound like EPs now
I get better by the hour
Pussy comes with the power
Got yo bitch in the corner sending signals
trace
Louis V right by the waist (yee)
Don’t trip just chill
Shoutout PJ he for real
Don’t gotta record on the phone
Y’all ready know what I’m on
My head
One man, honcho truck load, ammo
All black, suit and tie, don't move in camo
Gloves on, no Evie
Trigger finger forever ready
One man, one machete
Out
on my neck and wrist to make it glisten
Nah I ain't rich but you can't tell it by the way I'm living
Player shit but I don't play a bit
I might just trick
[Master P talking]
G man, why don't you go on, pass the dank
Let's take a lil' break ya know whatb I'm sayin'
Before we finish this album up
stalker
Words thrillin', so real they're chillin', the hit author
Gettin' louder than a shot gun, you don't want none
Rhyme pays was the name of the album
Tree by Fall Out Boy
Jimmy Eats World Bleed American
Red Hot Chili Peppers Californication By The Way
Gimme Some Peter Bjorn and John
The Avett Brothers
of earth
Put out your hand
And touched the face of hell
All this is why you don't have anything to say
When your boy tells you
That he is seeing cracks in
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