Lyrics:
bottoms bad bitch she red hot
You more ready than me put your money on that a rack I bet not
I set shop where that moula be watch me shine no jewelry
dey tell me record
Touching herself while your busy at work
She's a savage boy, what u expect ?
She's a savage boy, what you expect ?
Her favorite
scarred by a revolv'
With no warnin' signs, 'cause yo my man took five
Now I'm the young one with the nine, ready to put in my time
Shoot first, look
records as well
Nas, the alleged ring leader of it, is furious at Tupac
Excuse me Makaveli's verbal a**ault
On Mobb Sleep, Notorious B.I.G. and several
Don't let no body fuck up your high
Father, I lift up my son
I lift up anyone that travels with him and by his speed I pray that you go ahead of him
size up your body
And put some white chalk around it
Let's talk about the fact you actually blackballed a rapper
That's twice as young as you (let's
First, the DJ must power up the amplifiers.
To play a record, select an album and put it on the turntable.
The racer must attach five dollars
and you'll find
You are
They are
We are
Youtiful
You are
They are
We are
Youtiful
You can re-record your inner voices
And one by one
Shuck away those negative
your rights
Sex sells, strife turns record profits
I turn records off with disdain
Listening to kids with brains
Who switched lanes, ‘cause spitting
chips further and further
As if your chance at happiness was trumped by the need to be an earner
Do it over and over, no chance to rest
It all happens so
Here it is, here it comes, it's another one
(Blam) put up your big guns
(Blam) , cover your eardrums (Blam, blam)
Here it is, here it comes, it's another
like a quarter a mil
Hit ya by the tech and blow half your budget
I do it for the streets and **** love it
Just copped the new Bent, you know ya boy pay
that are giving them props and learn
If you wanna earn your stripes
You gotta be able to rock this mic and set cyphers alike
The feeling to put in
I'd rather put out a motherfuckin' Gospel record
I'd rather be a pussy-whipped bitch, eat pussy
And have pussy lips glued to my face
With a clit ring
figures (yup)
Spit 30 large for cigars of you hoe niggas (oww!)
I got gangstas that'll rearrange ya whole face
And put your casket on ice, now that's
walkin'
Make your eyes jump out the sockets
She got money out of all my pockets
Wiggle then move
(Wiggle then move)
Wiggle then move
(Wiggle then
homeboy, you're better off coming from the heart
And letting the kids put your record on the chart
You must use your head and forget what they said
'Cause in
under any rapper thinking that they better
Make it wetter
To the letter
Set a record on a record for the record
Watch how I do this
They say my style is
Momma Ima dope dealer
I'm trying to push this crack through your phone speaker
Im all around the world trying to see this pay
Please tell her not
Momma told me that if you got it then you should be conceited
Never told me that if I tried it'd tear my heart to pieces
Same old record but still I
Ngayi qala ngeyi one beni ngekho
Let's set the record straight
Bazokhuluma
Bazokhuluma
I don't care , what they say
Yimi ukaizer washintsha uguluva
Why did I ever
Why did I ever grow up?
It came to me but it disappeared by the kitchen wall
The giant's son sold me records
I'd listened to in your
a letter to myself, revised by discretion
I'm not disrespecting, I just had so many questions
This my inner soul, I'm expressing
So much passive
metals round our necks and arms (yea)
We tear it up y'all, bless the mic with the gods
Whatever in your heart is where you want to be
My hood is
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