Lyrics:
history
Two triple O back in the do, bout to drop tops with the
Boy Big Moe
Screwed Up Click we super thick, been dropping hits
Since '94
Now y'all know
third degree in the stu
I'm on the move bitch I do what I do
Pulling up quick with the mufuckin crew
My shooters do shoot We get bitches by two
Play them
don't know, well today, this a formal introduction
My god
Make em do the by job aye
Drive so fucking crazy I could keep my eyes closed aye
But this road
of the rainbows gold
And nothing seems to please me
'Cause why do I feel so cold
Standing in the spotlight
It was the one thing I was after
The only thing I
fucking bought the t-shirt
And we know we're right, so we don't do no research
Stop it! We should just goddamn drop it
Two thousand years of the same
finish
I lose in 2K games by double digits
My girl yell at me she say "Do the dishes"
You not my momma nor my daddy don't be tellin' me shit
Then I go
heads and two vertebraes
Peace, this is my imagination
-Imagination is important here
-You can do this
The chivo my lyrics like Mjölnir 2 People
My Ego lost in the haystack needle
My creo is the fore sight from evil Like eagles
Birds chirp but always
move too fast, people, just take it slow.
Don't get ahead, just jump into it.
Ya'll here a body, two peices to it.
Get stutted, get stupid.
You'll
foot in the black and white two dimensional ghosts of Lithuania
And the other foot in sunny California where the people are all friendly
As they
And never try to see the penitentiary walls
I walk barefoot on the equator with the mental acumen of Bob Lazar
My frame can't be explored by y'all radar
My
(that you need)
keep it by the zip to the pound to the ki' (to the Ki')
used to grind for days all night (all night)
now I check my boys Bob P
to the throne, the new Screw music king
Boys call me Bob Johnson, I control the team
Like I'm Pretty Boy Floyd, I control the ring
Two time convicted felon, use
Niggas can't even play me
Rap on motivational
Though the ratio often ain't on my team
Lean on me, ain't no sunshine when we gone
I need two phones
Like you know you got your rhyme on cock
And everything I do, shit stop for you, shit
Please, thirty two degrees, of the breeze
About to hit you wit
Like you know you got your rhyme on cock
And everything I do, shit stop for you, shit
Please, thirty two degrees, of the breeze
About to hit you wit
can't wield these Texas Tech's
(TECs) , you ain't Bob (K) Night
Who the fuck would wanna do this?
I would want to live instead
Bigga nigga, bigger grave
"Abomunist Manifesto"
The "Abomunist Manifesto," Bob Kaufman
The "Abomunist Manifesto"
Bomkauffer, the cough bomber
From a, from the cough bomber
ghetto history
Two triple O back in the do, bout to drop tops with the
Boy Big Moe
Screwed Up Click we super thick, been dropping hits
Since '94
Now
Wilma
by Bawb (Bob) Pearce
She is so pretty
And she loves to dance
She look your way
And boy, you got no chance
She got such style
She got such
to the throne, the new Screw music king
Boys call me Bob Johnson, I control the team
Like I'm Pretty Boy Floyd, I control the ring
Two time convicted felon, use
move too fast, people, just take it slow.
Don't get ahead, just jump into it.
Ya'll here a body, two peices to it.
Get stutted, get stupid.
You'll
Martha
Stewart and Bill Cosby and Bob Barker
The crew is Culture VI and type bonkers
Juganot tougher than Tonka the monster
Eatin' the tracks alive divide
Matter of fact, who didn't?
Catch 22s like two digit's
Surrounding my ends
And it's drowning my head like a huge fitted
But I've gotta move with it
Becah'
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