Lyrics:
the game, boy to hell with the fame
It's The Man You Love 2 Hate
The J.R. Ewing of Seattle
It's The Man You Love 2 Hate
The J.R. Ewing of Seattle
Intro!!
Adim otuucally made
Smith
Krissboy bad man ever
Ekwe
Davidson man of the moment
Greeee rahhhhh
(Chrous by lordsmith)
Ray diary
No zuzu make
James Baldwin
Malcom X Martin Luther King Jr Clarence 13X
Maya Angelou Ray Charles, Minister Farrakhan
John Cochran Stokely Carmichael, Emmett Till
for bad luck, now now
Oh, oh, I wouldn't have no luck at all
Would you believe I wouldn't have no luck at all
Looka here Ray, you think your
and a 100 gallon keg of beer and
Haggard dropped by and brought Willie with him
And they started takin' requests
Well don't get me wrong boys this is
mi Clarks, dark brown, some boy a part clown
Vybz Kartel from Portmore, Sean Kingston
When we step, boy get down, like Rays from that spectrum
know what I mean
We sat there for a minute listening to the crickets
Thinkin' this is pretty hard to beat
Til Jr stood up spit in the fire
Said boys
don't get fed up
My people rise, my people fight
My people do alright
My people walk with pride and
We're marchin' side by side and
My people laugh,
the referees don't get involved
It's the finals and my dogs came to take it all
2014 And them boys back
I'm at the finals on the floor and that boy strapped
50
born in thy stable
Raised as the prodigal son
I'm feeling rays from the sun
For you follower zombie niggas
I got rays from a gun
That's from a mystery
lucky)
Funny watchin' two niggas beef that could hardly fight
Like Soulja Boy gettin' pepper sprayed by Charleston White
Can't forget about the Super
disrespectful
Y'all know I don't care 'bout these niggas
Happy New Year
Tekashi got snatched by the feds, he done
I'm like, "Damn, why they doin' that to 50
can't fix it, gonna find a boy who can
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Pensacola
Well, I found him in
do you say, can we try to be?
Fallin' harder everyday
You're a bad boy, what can I say?
I'm a mess and you're my sunshine ray
Fallin' harder everyday
me in a trance like Medusa
She give me good brain, she my tutor
Bonnie Parker, she'll turn into my shooter
Bad lil shawty and she came for the mula
Even if ya haven't
I know you Understand
Apprehension is Apparent
By the way we all not caring
How the cameras keep on rolling
While they shooting down
hoed I ain’t one of them
Dope boy fresh pull up in the wheat timbs
Block baby ray Charles I can’t see em
Mad at his self because he can’t be him
Big ass
Atlanta's bad boy, Mr. Eastside himself
A to the K, Jose Williams Jr
Yeah, ride through [?] with my hat bent to the left
The Eastside Chevy rida
Ay yo
Tune get back
Come on! Yeah, D5 motherfucker!
It's Tunechi Jr bitch!
Pops, lemme go ahead and get 'em one time
Ya heard me? Hol' up!
Turn my
Hank Jr. - Family Tradition; Willie Nelson - Angel Flyin' Too Close To The Ground; Ray Price - Crazy Arms; Johnny Cash - Sunday Morning Coming Down. Now
things are bad with me
I can always, I can always you, you know, like depend on Lucille
Sorta hard to talk to you myself
I guess, I'll let Lucille say
Crewmates kill'
Fick' das Game, jeder kopiert den UK-Drill wie'n Blu-Ray-Film
Ich hab' mehr Rapper gedeepthroated als Weed-Smoke
Jeder hat die Postleitzahl
jackson’s like dirty diana
Mexican plug he own a qdoba
African plug he got the ebola
I pour a pint of wok in my soda
Boy i’m gettin green like shrek n fiona
fucking job wit ya
He ain't talking cream I can see it's Ray Charles to ya
When ya whip the lambo, take the Top wit ya
Oh, take the Top wit ya
Ohhh, take
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