Lyrics:
Bob
Thanks Bob
For blue and red and green
Thanks Bob
For black and white
And for all the shades between
Thanks Bob
For whatever
Blah blah blah
Thanks
It'll just look ugly
For a thousand years...)
You can't run a country
By a book of religion
Not by a heap
Or a lump or a smidgeon
Of foolish rules
haters face down on the mat
Splat! Yeah I can make a green nigga mad
Quick, fast, flash like ten cash on his bitch ass
[B.O.B.]
You can tell I'm a G by
Hip-Hop style baby, y'all remember
By the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts
In your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered
Duck taped your
black emperor, king, ruler, now let me finish
The history books overlook the word and hide it
America tried to make it to a house divided
The homies
older G's
She say she love me, but I know she play for keeps
Slip a black snake in a nigga's sheets
Bought a bitch a hundred acres, all red roses
Half you
older G's
She say she love me, but I know she play for keeps
Slip a black snake in a nigga's sheets
Bought a bitch a hundred acres, all red roses
Half you
the frame is special
Leave requested from the years I’ve invested
Arrested, develop, addressed it, envelope
The body of the black party
From Farley to Bob
or grip a sick book to read
Maybe that's the reason for my unrequited peace sign
Chill, I'll be the bigger shiver crawling up the beast's spine
Black lunged
Token nigga
The blacker the berry sweeter the juice/ seem like the lighter the skin the more they book you/ the more you’re offended the more that
This country has been surprised by the way the world looks now. They don't know if they want to be Matt Dillon or Bob Dylan. They don't know if they
that's on the ledge
And there's no one to talk you down
And tuck you in the bed
Lord, it's so ironic that it's funny
Of something for the books
the month
No need to front
We cause the blood to gush
Operation push, it's the Wu!
You scarecrow, jump off the road
You best to reload, your gat black
And get
that's on the ledge
And there's no one to talk you down
And tuck you in the bed
Lord, it's so ironic that it's funny
Of something for the books
that's on the ledge
And there's no one to talk you down
And tuck you in the bed
Lord, it's so ironic that it's funny
Of something for the books
and your friends, you play the licky licky
I figured it out when I caught that hickey
Between yo' legs with yo' chocolate slippy
Now Bob busy, gotta taught
indent
How I leave the scene black gloves no prints
Born raiders rage builders outrageous
Can't read this book too many missing pages
Time is now
a little graze
I remain relevant I'm a raw element
High street intelligent product of my tenement
Son of Anarchy, smoking that Bob Marley
La la la be
Simple minds get blown, shattered into pieces
My thesis is thick like the Book of Eli
We live we die, we put 'em in the sky
Free your mind
Strippers are fuct, tweakers are fuct, your mom is fuct, and cocaine is fuct, your girlfriend is fuct, by my face shes fuct, by a dog shes fuct, by
Words by Jen Foster & Kathy Scott
Music by Jen Foster
The black and white picture taken by a stranger
Out in the streets of New Orleans
The blanket
Guns, shootouts and crack sales
Black males who pack jails, trapped in hell
No peace, cold streets, surrounded by po-lice
This whole week,
I am a modern martyr
Young Godfather
Of this rap shit
The Holy Father's
Favorite daughter
No need to fact check
My price is larger
Black Bob Barker
I
I'm just sitting back chilling Blowing on some good kush When this bad black jazzy Bitch I met from off the book Hit me up trying to see if I felt
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