Lyrics:
it is to be finally living
I cannot believe it I swear
7am I'm reading 'bout what Jesus 'bout
'Bout Jesus' bout with the wicked ones who snuffed
screaming fuck rehab right now
I'ma smoke ya, smoke ya, smoke ya, ayy
Kush I'm smokin', smokin', smokin', ayy
Big ass four oh I am totin', ayy
Don't make me
what I've done
Who I am or where I'm from
If you don't know it by
Now then you just dumb
I ain't got no pistols, inf beams
Choppers or no Dracos
No car,
Looking at
All this rappers Iv been eating
Even if I was 2 pac by now I would have pot belly
I’m a shot (short) caller
It’s like I’m on the phone with
please wash these lames away
And ironically, that's the name of my song
That's gold with no fuckin' radio play
Now it's back to the topic
Let me hit you
Roadrunner
That's right
Well now
Roadrunner, roadrunner
Going faster miles an hour
Gonna drive to the Stop 'n' Shop
With the radio on at night
And me
Man you hell of a pussy for
The shit you did last night
I could tell you nervous right now by
How you moving your hands right
Yeah please don't fuck
the hypest in New York City?
WU-TANG! Radio stop shittin on me!
"I got fifty men out in the street
Now if they all get bitch troubles I starve
Is that it?
am, the Method Man
Patty cake, patty cake, hey, the Method Man
Don't eat Skippy, Jif or Peter Pan
Peanut butter, 'cause I'm not butter
In fact, I
am, the Method Man
Patty cake, patty cake, hey, the Method Man
Don't eat Skippy, Jif or Peter Pan
Peanut butter, 'cause I'm not butter
In fact, I
Life styles of the live-en-dead
First ya live den ya dead, died trying ta clock what I said
Now I got a murder rap 'cause I bust ya cap with flavor,
was in my room playing air guitar, always lost in a song
On many weekend evening, I was playing right along
On those radio nights
(Chorus)
No CD
"Peter Pan, that's what they call me
I promise that you'll never be lonely" and ever since that day
I am a lost boy from Neverland
Usually hanging out with
pipe game is wicked
And an hour get you by and it can be kinda fitted
Who am I?
I might last for five minutes, but that's all right
Because that 25
saxophone
(You motherfuckin' right)
[Big O]
It's my turn to drop some shit with my nigga Master P
And I know all you bitch-type niggas say "It couldn't be"
right where we should be
With my arms out wide I open my eyes
And now all I wanna see
Is a sky full of lighters
A sky full of lighters
By the time
full of orgasm (haha)
They tried to bewitch me
But I fight back with Jesus
Big ups Proph' Nii- Kwaku, Am poised up
Just like tryna lick uncooked snail
Ate York Peppermint Patties, slung by Peter Paul
Wrangler, straight laid the track when it sag
With one banger, interlude loop caused me to hang up
Be careful with what you take cause this might just happen to you
I know when something don't feel right
So high feel like I'm about to die
I know
of money.
Like I say ol' Jack Johnson he was a pugilist,
He was a pugilist by preference and by profession
And one day ol' Jack came walkin' on down by
true
And we still wonder whether we are
Fooling ourselves
Now I am drawn to go back to the upper room
To join the others, and wait with them
Wait
The years go by so fast
I thought that it would last
But now I'm dancing with
The Ghost of Christmas Past
The years go by so fast
I thought they would
slipped
The Mac is cuttin records and punks are gettin ripped
Gangster I am, bust the lyrics like a drive-by
You wanna sleep? Well, it's lights out,
always rage
ct who I am right now
I want to make a change.
But how?
Can I do the Unthinkable?
Everyone's in control by desire
I've been standing here
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