Lyrics:
I've got a lot to accomplish this time of year
Even though we've got Santa I gotta kick it in gear
My neighbors always get me stuff, so now I need
distance, much too easily
Jim says, "Some destinies should not be delivered"
But you and I see now, baby, that still they are
Winning it makes losers of us
You think that I'd be over you by now
I've tried to let go, but I really don't know how
I'm dreaming of a better life, but my heart is still in pain
doubt
Meanwhile I'm swimming in cash
I was never cool with y'all, don't try to link up now
Because my train left the station, but it's a Brink's truck
And a bitch by the name of America's on it
The same bitch that jacked my forefathers
And the Indians took my motherfucking religion
Place a holy Bible in my
(Oh Major, don't go)
Young Guru, Just Blaze, Killa
Diplomats, huh
Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Freeky Zeekey
Hoffa, Dash, uh
Killa, uh
Y'all
spending ends
Saying, "Gimme that Benz, 20 inch rims, and four TV's"
The snitch in the precinct saying
"He sell X, he sell techs, and he sell D"
The balla by
an erection)
Go nigga, go (ain't shit to fool with)
Young black male
I try to effect by kicking the facts
And stacking much mail
I'm packing a gat 'cause
lettin' off much steam
In the Carhartt flannel and the dusty jeans, baby
I never was cool with James Dean, but I be hangin' tough
With my man Jim Beam
I
tough
With my man Jim Beam
I swing low like a chimp, back in '86
Then I was seein' a shrink
But now I'm humble and I can only think
About New
There's a fruit store on our street
It's run by a Greek.
And he keeps good things to eat
But you should hear him speak!
When you ask him
a touchdown
Ran on the money, hall of fame of finesse, ain't no Jim Brown
I know my momma she proud of me
Young rich nigga, we the new trend now
Came a long
don't run
And my dog stay bustin his gun
Think that gettin' caught by justices is fun
Keep a blade up in they gums
This is Harlem, where the fuck is
to bring rap back
Not that it's away
But everybody got somethin' to say
So let me speak the opposite of what's hot now
And make that hot
So it will
laying low for a few,
But in your trunk he left you some treasure
A pint of rye and a case of Slim Jim's
For your masticating pleasure
Now ten p.m.
Who am I
Mister window sill snooper
Comedic as jim carrey with a dash of bill cooper
Highly interested in vintage quests for the shooter
While
where i sleep, now give me my key
[Verse 8: N.O.R.E.]
New York get the blood money, dirty cash still sweet
We will blackwall street by the swapmeet with
now).
(She won't get up,she won't go out, baby! what's it all about?
Why,why,why,why,why?!)
Well,in simple english I'm lazy,I want to be lazy,
I
mortality set him free.
But now I'm older than Elvis, older than Jim
Older than Buddy Holly (lord what happened to him)
Older than Eddie and Billy too,
him free.
But now I’m older than Elvis, older than Jim.
Older than Buddy Holly, Lord what happened to him?
Older than Eddie and Billy too, catching up
matters
Cooking pancakes up on the stove
Cooking pancakes up on the stove
Flapjack duty bid for by my wife
Making chocolate chips my now normal life
Cooking
and I smashed again
Stayed over, now she's about to get attached again
Walls built up around, they come crashing in
Passed out at six A.M., but she's
I'ma test this out right quick on y'all
Now keep in mind I'm an artist and I'm sensitivie about my shit
So y'all be nice about it, alright
Sisters
I'ma test this out right quick on y'all
Now keep in mind I'm an artist and I'm sensitivie about my shit
So y'all be nice about it, alright
Sisters
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