Lyrics:
like a rich kid
Drinking like a camel's hump
Lovin' you like a dead man or a writer stuck in a slump
Well I wrote this song on the back of a bag that
who's been singing
If anybody should wanna know who wrote this song
Just tell him Big Joe was here this morning
Well he was here this morning, yeah,
fought that dude
I read the paper it said the pigs caught that dude
Its sad another black man taking by a black hand
Wish your last night in the club we
they shot and burned Jhosivani's friends, the boys he slept next to and one time, by the whistle trees, sang a song about Christmas
He asks about justice
Whether it be casualties from your side of the line or mine
I'm in the line of duty amputations by the tooley
Dirty South here to ruley, consequences moody
I got props and pissed on
I was dissed by the system but I still tried to get on
No one could tell me that my style was unhealthy
I never
with
Try to make songs kissing my ass, recycling my beats or my vocals
The shit is real over here man
Thank you for listening, and thank you for
Touched down and now hit-boy's my son nigga (know what I'm talkin' bout)
At thirteen I wrote thirteen's nigga (know what I'm talkin' bout)
At fifteen I
was all my fault
I think I let you in
Look (yeah), you said I never wrote a song for you
So I hope this one is haunting you
You said even if it
Gasoline - Flammable
Shhhhhhhhhh
This here is bout the hardest thing I ever wrote
Gasoline and I'm aiming at you rappers throats
Makaveli I'm back
then I ever been
I had to get it out for when I'm unable to sit wit' you,
You have a little song that I wrote for you to listen to,
So you know the way
Ooh,
Ah, yeah
Someone found a letter you wrote me
On the radio
And they told the world
Just how you felt
It must have fallen out
Of a hole in your
scared by the way that I dress
Unlike you I couldn't afford to shop at Macy's or Penny's
So it's off to the swap meet for a fresh pair of Dickey's
So what
flip powder, I aint takin' a loss
Plus if I get snatched, its less time for the song
I was been known to stroll the block, hold the glock
Blow dro, pick
wrote this, mixed with
Magician kinds of flow
Who roll sleeveless
There'll be no tricks or gimmicks
For me to be spitting this
Son'n niggas I'll make sure
for that looking at you
When I wrote this song pretty cute face
With champion socks aesthetic little baby
Just what I want just what I want
Running
wrote this song
Express myself on paper
I’ll apply some pressure, but baby I won’t chase you
Baby I wont chase you
I keep so much locked away
Never been
a sneaky link, I'm tryna put you on
Don't listen to the hype, you why I wrote this song
A lotta people said we'd never get along
We proved em' wrong, we
like a mad dentist
In the pen just wrote off my last sentence
Look ma your boy boutta be winning
Yeah
Independent
Is what I'm speaking
Money moves
But
Everlasting
A never ending
Tragedy
I penned a poem for him
I wrote a song for her and
They both agree
This world's so cold
They so alone
They sale their
at by the people next to me (what?)
Played "Just Don't Give a Fuck" and I pressed repeat (what)
And I still don't give a fuck here and I'm almost thirty
Yo-yo homeboy, pass me dat
Yo, this is the song I wrote for the girl I love.
Her name, Mary Jane
Saggin' my dickies, smoke like a hippy
Smell
oh just like the day I found you
So I wrote you this song though in vain, dear, for no lyrical rhyme can contain
All the gladness you bring
Sitting on the turntable
Sitting in the microwave
176 degrees
c 180 and I flip back to look
ct the man who recognizes me
cnd wants to give me a hug
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