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Yee yee! We've found 434 lyrics and 180 artists matching city by bob welch.
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Then the bugging like roaches Country nigga born in the Chocolate City Raised by 2 country folk from the down the south With a mama that loves me dearly
spiked out, I can trip a referee, Tell by my attitude that I most definitely from… In New York, Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, Theres
Welcome to the game homie, take notice The sky turns black still were the West Coast is Welcome to the city of God Watch the earth stand still, yo
still sippin' Mai Tai's Sittin' courtside, Knicks and Nets give me high five Nigga I be Spike'd out, I could trip a referee Tell by my attitude that I'm
that thing again Trackhawk it go too fast Four by four the Hellcat My girl she is too bad Too bad y'all don't got that Got celebs that listen to my music
I ain't never liked you I'm rich as hell, I'd never fight you, I'll have somebody snipe you My doggy Lucky on the edge, holdin' on by a thread Just
If I see you, I don't fuck with you Gon' act I don't know you Got some niggas in the city Tryna figure me out If it ain't about no paper Ain't no
than your video Fuck a sadiddy ho This that rap city flow, hit Flex Let the city know, shit By time you hear this A nigga will be up on Arsenio And I got
My style sit's on the brink My life's slived in a blink My mics spun ’til the greeks redefined dizzy My city tends to sleep when you walk and It
the city I touch down and I bob and weave, ay It's a Midwest thang, y'all and they ain't got a clue (they ain't got a clue) Why my Cutlass blue And I
Youngboy, I'm hot now, I need a fan I'm throwing up the westside, Sparkle City what I claim Bitch, I'm sippin' Nupe juice, tastin' like purple rain Woo, woo
Brandon Miller Yeah Giving straps to killers In the red with the dead I'm a walking thriller Keep the hammer by my side Bitch I'm bob the builder Heavy
dodging the debacles like pot holes in Jamaica We cut down the weed bury the paper on them acres Martin had a dream bob got high I still do both but somehow
I'm dodgin debacles like pot holes in Jamaica, We cut down the weed, bury the paper on dem acres. Martin had a dream, Bob got high, I still do both
You think Oakland, California, is a city of punks It only takes a second to pop the trunk And just like that, you know it's real You're in
an automatic shotty from a drum they call "Tommy" Guaranteed to get you bitches from by me When I hit every piece of your visible body, he leaking Mortimer is
an automatic shotty from a drum they call "Tommy" Guaranteed to get you bitches from by me When I hit every piece of your visible body, he leaking Mortimer is
*Written by Bob Geldof *From the album entitled "Mondo Bongo"
each other the next And if you don't like it it's just like that 'Cause I come from, the city of dope It couldn't be saved by John the Pope But since
Intro Rap by R.Kelly (feat. R. Kelly, Fabolous) [R. Kelly] Y'all know what this is so bob your heads, yeah ladies it's your boyfriend
Cause usually I be low-key Somewhere in the studio But all I wanna do right now is to ride around in my city While the speakers blow Blasting, passing, by
holdin' it down Every car pass by with the music real loud, while bumpin', roamin' around Tellin' me to make a hit but I really don't get While they
tried to shake it, man, I can't believe this shit is real Heart pumping on the 101 This shit right here ain't no fun Live and die by the gun Get you
"Uncle Bob, where you at? Yeah I know your pockets fat but I don't give a fuck 'bout that I'm glad we family" (uh) We a half breed family, yeah, yeah,
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