Lyrics:
of money's gonna make me a star
No greed I need some dollar to my name
No fame no gain it's a poor musicians game hey
If I earn a penny I will spend a pound
with him?
I'm sure she did it out of spite, it was her decision at birth
Shit, she probably was hurt, ah, poor baby
Two young people with different
shot you in newyork why would I box you now?
If I catch you in the yard I'm'a ox you down
Niggas you think is real really can't hold they own
I'll
I need a gun to keep myself among
The poor people who are burning in the sun
But they ain't got a chance
They ain't got a chance
I need a gun
You crunchy chump crabs get crumbled up like crack rock
Fuck with the Wu, we busting ya whole snot box
Million white ears and your bitch up in
He was a young poor boy
Walkin' all alone
The word he most heard was "lose"
How could it be good?
He had no mother
He had no father too
The only
This close selling dope
Had a hand full of Crack
I aint never going back
I aint never going back
I was so damn poor
When I slept on the floor
I aint
a boom box 'round
New cassettes kept playin' the sound
Of Jump and Heart o' Rock n Roll
It turned me upside down
Soakin' up the pine and sunshine,
10th letter in the alphabet
In the air when I'm riding in the hot box
They be sleeping on the Nina, like she not hot
But she a baddie, so you cock her
like I'm buried alive
Oh it feels like I'm buried alive
But I worked too damn hard
To die like a poor man
Chained to the land of the free
Wasted my
why my poor heart is wasting your time
I'm naming constellations in a thousand little points of light
Glitter in my old box of excitement
I smile
Democratic in deed
In this America
Good education is all you need
Is this America
The rich helping the poor in need
In This America
How ironic
Cos this is
and I'm like sure thing
I respect anyone who is supportive
I was nothing but a poor thing
I be getting twerked on by the shordys
Claiming that you are but
solo
Took two shots of Old Crow
To drown my sorrows
Cops torch my body by tomorrow, oh no
Tony sold poop to Bobby from Toronto
Conor, go box Floyd on TV
what to do
I'd go about it better
Just a piss poor excuse
I bet karma get ya
If i knew what to do
I'd go about it better
Just a piss poor excuse
I bet
She let me in when I want fasho
I fed the streets and I fed the poor
Too busy looking for bag to blow, I just came up on a bag to blow
I feel like
lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, and the rich get rich
That's how it goes
And everybody knows
Everybody knows the boat is
lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, and the rich get rich
That's how it goes
And everybody knows
Everybody knows the boat
Poor dumb canary
You finally threw yourself in a glass
Treated you so badly
Gave you everything that you wanted
Poor dumb bird
You sang
poor hung up souls
Girls won't touch with a ten-foot pole, well
What about us
What about us
Don't want to cause no fuss
But what about us
He
I need a gun to keep myself from harm
All the poor people are burning in the sun
But they ain't got a chance
They ain't got a chance
I need a gun
I need a gun to keep myself among
The poor people who are burning in the sun
But they ain't got a chance
They ain't got a chance
I need a gun
to me
Mos would agree
If it was close to you
You would have said something already, tough
Who am I to judge you
I'm the one who's on a box
If you want
just talk I walk the walk so how you think that we not different
Take a shot send some shots I don't box I'll hit ya kidneys
Block is hot got my glock
Discuss these poor box Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In