Lyrics:
Lotta fake people around me
Real niggaz only
Ya heard
We in town murthafuckaz
They've been acting like they fuck with me
When i turn around they
you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear 'em when the night times comes creeping
And you
Likes to judge people in many wrong
Ways i felt judged by many people and
That every time that I judged somebody
They always took offense to it
But I
to stop the process you know
Cover your chest I'll spray these through your thin vest
Feared like an outlaw from the East, getting stalked by Jim West
work
Sittin' by the fire
The radio does play
The classical music there, Jim
The march of the wooden soldiers
All you protest kids
You can hear Jack
children are the only ones who blush
And that, life is just to die
And, everyone who ever had a heart
They wouldn't turn around and break it
And anyone who
where you not at
(What?)
Go live, let me see what's around you (Huh?)
Hit you and hit everythin' around you
(Boom, boom)
Had a hole in your head when they
up, let it out
Speak freely from your mouth
They can't crush down your soul
Find your voice and scream and shout out loud
So come around
And tear it
I grew up near a porn shop
Next to an old lot
Next to a liquor store
Next to a pawn shop
Next to an arcade
Where they say they sold rock
Tryna shove
Where i'm from I advise niggas don't come around
Cuz where i'm from you wont make it out of my town
We load hollows in pounds I will hollow you down
Fuck these niggas thinking?
Y'all niggas thinkin' I'm doing, just sittin' around doin' nothin'?
Oh my God, niggas can't be serious
Where the hood,
dead your shit
Shut video shoots down, turn airplanes around
Knowledge in belly anonymous rounds
Tryna host AOD and niggas lying you down
Of course
it, six gun, weighin' a ton,
10 paces and turn, just for fun, son,
Up till sundown, rolling around,
See where the bad guys ought to be found and make
blowing her nose
The theme song will not be
Written by Jim Webb
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell
Tom Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdinck
nigga you
You turn around then you shit on Shaq
Who woulda knew, Mr goodie Two-Shoes
He love a little butt crack, got enough cash
Little kids with they
Yeah, you beat the rap jiggaboo, fake nigga you
You turn around then you shit on Shaq
Who woulda knew, Mr Goodie-Two-Shoes
He love a little butt crack,
screw-top champagne as we can drink
We're so easy
Taking turns having our photos taken
Sitting in front of smoked windows
Decanters of cheap whiskey
the difference
We could turn it all around around
We could turn it all around around
Seems like everybody's fake woke
Talk big but they blow smoke
Do they wanna
where it stays
To the nerdcore underworld, now that's a long way
Can't go alone but it's time to start play
Better join the campaign, magic class arcane
to go
These people don't need money
Where they goin '
Fellas find money wrap up in kerchief and socks
Dead people money
Jaw grind pornography
left
behind, Styrofoam, computer chips.
And Jim and John, oh they were there. And Carol too, her hair pinned up in that weird
beehive way she liked so
did you know Haiti was still in a Drought
They’re dried up like Ms. McCloud’s shit hole - where you popped out
Tricked Hicks with a bible - picked
to having violent psychotic
Quick devour polish it, politics
By the way I'm higher than the Eiffel Tower tip
I like writin'
But I will stick this pencil
sleep when nod's around the corner
Later on, in the afternoon I rise to rap tunes
Way past two turn the dial to BET or Trial TV
If it's hot I'll just
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