Lyrics:
a island boy
But you ain't walk out the house
Wit no sneakers on
Hawaiian made for the drink
Seven Eleven only thing I eat
Please do not judge
By the way
a island boy
But you ain't walk out the house
Wit no sneakers on
Hawaiian made for the drink
Seven Eleven only thing I eat
Please do not judge
By the way
a island boy
But you ain't walk out the house
With no sneakers on
Hawaiian made for the drink
Seven Eleven only thing I eat
Please do not judge
By the way
only thing I eat
Please do not judge
By the way that I speak, Shhhh
Hear the coquis when I sleep, Yea
You can find me by the beach, Uh
Musubis two
evidence for
If these things are what you mean by God
Then I believe in God but I
Don't believe in a personal
God to whom I look for comfort or for a
Natural
through on your stereo (outchea)
Pon your radio
Fine girls sare yodi o
Make my boys gum body o (ahn-ahn)
If you no know
Make you ask all around e-oh (e-oh
me
Boy you know the answer to that question
But our relationship has been weighed down by the anchor of expectations
A whole year sneaking to occasions
ain't the shooter
(?)
Riding shotty in the chevy (?) know as a Krueger
Lyrical ruler (?)
You lukewarm, boy, go get you a cooler please
Your bitch
Mix-A-Lot a sucker
Who you callin' sucker, lip-synching motherfucker
Move the set boy how's this fiasco
I'm in your gutter and I'm singin' like Tabasco,
damn
Roll out, with the windows down
Sunset
By the beach
With my ten toes down
Like damn
Real talk
Watch the sun go down
Watch the freaks come up
As I
Hmmmmm, it's about that time of the year anyway. Hahahaha!
Well! You despicable heathenistic civilictic god knows what else... mumbling jumbling oooh big
on a brand new six,
La la la la la la la la la la
I just taught my young boys how to mix,
La la la la la la la la la la
Ye ain't seen paper like this nigga.
Stereo
So rep the streets you ride on.
Chant them down with that rude boy sound,
and watch the whole world lie down.
We generals in the streets they know
god, oh my god, oh my god
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god
Aye
I'm a New England Boy (East Side)
I'm a New England Boy
guessed it! God done over by customs, the pair of us, didn't we? So there we
are standing there, "Hello hello hello! What you been up to, you naughty boys
s***
Mix the Bubba with the blueberry
S*** is getting scary
Oh mary mary mary
Light that s***
Pass that s***
Sell these hoodies getting rich
On the Beach
Stereo
So rep the streets you ride on.
Chant them down with that rude boy sound,
And watch the whole world lie down.
We generals in the streets they
to kill every nigga
That stand by him or speak for him
Can you stop actin' like you
Doin' me a favor? Do I seem rattled?
This idiot don't even know he tell
it right
Or you'll be 6 feet deep by the end of my crime
Wanna be an enemy
You can meet my 9
For all these pussy boys
I don't go no time
Mix all
dripping on the floor, I said that
JoNiel is on turn up the stereo, this shit slap
A challenge then we standing toe to toe already know, Aye
And I'm riding
Cowell, I can't let you ex-factors survive
Nah, the time's right and they finally limelightin' the god of this rhyme writin'
My mic can only be likened
hope you know you need to stop boy
Fronting and trying be something you not boy
Listen again we keep on banging and pissing 'em off
Spazzin on niggas
birthday, boy
Man I'm feeling like a birthday boy
I swear to God!
You got me feeling like a birthday boy
Man I'm feeling like a birthday boy
Can I get some
Back then I say owublow me
Before God and man nobody know me
But right now them dey hear me
For their radio I bust up their stereo
DJ TAILA put it
Discuss these god only knows stereo mix by the beach boys Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In