Lyrics:
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R.
She asked me
Yeah, yeah yeah yeah (ohh, yeah)
We The Best Music! (major)
Bag alert, bag alert, bag alert
Another One!
Bag, bag, bag, bag
DJ Khaled!
Yeah
a major record company, named Bald-Headed John . . . King of the Plookers . . .
Father Riley B. Jones:
This is the story 'bout
Bald-Headed John
Yeah all Matte Black with the tints on it (uh)
That choppa like R. Kelly piss on em (ok let's go)
If he get up with me put a hit on em
I ain't
the backseat of your car |'Ring Of Fire' and goodbyes burning through ya|Feels like hell but sings like Halleluia|Me and John R. got nothing to lose|But
gon' keep it Nappy, slaw and slum and crunk and jumpin
[Chorus]
[Verse 3 - R. Prophet]
I think I got a Hpnotic, drunk got me singin bout it
L'sergent Fourrier met son lorgnon,
Et le major s'écri' : Cré nom !
Mam'zell' Banban ! r'luquez-la donc !
R.
Il faut la voir le long de la rivière,
Boitant
taking over your identity
Now come on
Tell me where I belong
And now take me
Back to J. R. Cupper St.
Where Maria would take everybody in her arms
And play
the birds in a free sky
And smiles on everyone I meet
Blessing every new day
As I walk down the John R. Towlestreet
Ik zie de zon zurgeloos schiene
Van
Then them and Three 6 Mafia start fightin'
That's the only thin' about that battle that was excitin' (facts)
D'Angelo bumass did Verzuz alone
R. Kelly
tonight baby?
'Bout to roll up to this club
'Bout to step off in this club
'Bout to get bent in this club
'Bout to get wild in this club
[2x]
[Verse 1 - R.
'cause I'm robbing, uh
I really move the stick, like a shift
I feel like R. Kelly, take a piss
Remix, half & half, like a Brisk
10BandLeek hit a ten band
di esse all'altezza dei veri king mica come questi qui
Che non meritano R. A. P
R. A. P
Rispetto a priori
(Per chi?!) Per i kings con le rime e coi
I'm popping I'm popping my shit off
Feel like R. Kelly you hoes got me pissed of
Do not disturb
I do not miss y'all
Shoot up ya block
But these bullets
as Vanilla Ice's son
And walk around the rest of my life spit on
And kicked and hit with shit every time I sung
Like R. Kelly as soon as "Bump and Grind"
beats, baby)
Great John on the beat, by the way
I don't care if it still stink, I'ma leave her alone
Even though she out here wishin' R. Kelly was
as Vanilla Ice's son
And walk around the rest of my life spit on
And kicked and hit with shit every time I sung
Like R. Kelly as soon as "Bump and Grind"
if you're washed in the blood like I was
The smell of cape jasmine through the window screen
John R. and the Wolfman kept me company
By the light
When you got a headache
A little headache powder will help you
When you got a backache
Go down To John R. & Brush and a massage parlor will take care
at night, late at night
Let me tell you
When you got a headache
A little headache powder will help you
When you got a backache
Go down To John R. & Brush
around to Pac, I fuck my girl to R. Kelly
Tell her make me a sandwich, no PB and jelly
She look back like, "Goddamn, what you think this? A deli?"
I'm
harassment, easy to this that won't let go,
A. is for the anger, though the years my temperament now must show,
R. is for ridiculous, chain me to block
John R. "Johnny" Cash, lived. Has no one else figured this out yet?
the back, spank the cheeks
Pulled her hair, pushed it deep
Pound da meat, sound asleep
Found a beach, grind and freak
Manage a trois, roll with R.
Posed
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