Lyrics:
the words that I bring
The ruler of the ring is Lord Ramsey
And music is made by Mark the 45 King
You tremble for my treble, you're begging for the bass
Both our children are
Hot doctors
Hot doctors
Hot doctors
Hot doctors
Al, you're fucking crazy
You are just a voice
A disembodied voice
Of Eddie
It’s dark the tv real loud
It’s only us, You know my style
Phone DND because it’s just you and Me
Hand on your thigh you mean the world to me
You’re
to articulate these words for my art
This is just a part of me
Have ya heard by the grapevine? No
Babe, do some figure eights on my ass
Let me know if you can
tremble for my treble, you're begging for the bass
The voice is too vicious, the same as the pace
The crowds, they love me, they give only hugs
I made a ten a fo'
Was taking niggas money and was itching for mo'
Laughing in their faces and said you're all making me rich
Till one punk got
score
And with each new play, you're aiming for more
From the cut to the deal, and the pegging to the crib
Cribbage is a game that you'll never beat me in
inside joke is how y’all choose to spend your whole Domingo
(Six) Stupid motha******s, let’s move onto number six
I assume by now you’re likely faded off
I made a ten a fo'
Was taking niggas money and was itching for mo'
Laughing in their faces and said you're all making me rich
Till one punk got
out, no way out
I said I'd be home because I
Don't wanna do that right now
I don't got time for that shit
I'ma kill you and you better
Hop in the casket
When I said, We are imprisoned
By a lack of imagination
I meant we have a hard time dreaming
We drink too much poison
Because we don't know where
Moving back and forth when I’m supposed to move forward
Life is a gift, and I appreciate mine
I’m really happy for the people who gave a meaning
others a chance
And for that, I'm so taken aback
Because you gave us all a voice, I have to say it for Jack
As a young black man seeing paper and crack
dropping for likes and attention more
People dislike you but they like me I don't if you're right but yes paid but are you
Alright while coming at me
is the
Worst time for the ears
And every year, there’s like, "why?" Nah
I move on like groove on
When you on the dance floor
You’re cocking back
You’re
begin, to master
Rhymin' rhymin' rhymin'
Criminal minded, you've been blinded
Looking for a style like mine you can't find it
They are the audience,
begin, to master
Rhymin' rhymin' rhymin'
Criminal minded, you've been blinded
Looking for a style like mine you can't find it
They are the audience,
for y'all
And my voice is messed up too, this is the last track of Young Sinatra
Yeah, yeah
Back in the day I wasn't shit, homie
Penny pinching I
of mine and I hope
You'll acknowledge my progress, but it's not good enough for me
I know it's sad, I don't know when, I hope I'll grow up eventually
I
side
Gonna beg that you never leave
Or take me with you
Because once I've felt your touch
Your lips on mine
I know that I'm gonna need you
For the rest
and four chords repeated
Completed by a relatable lyrical concept about an ex or something
This isn't for the masses
It's for the
musically analytical
So
believe that I've found
A desire for true love, floating around
Inside my soul because my soul is cold
One half of me deserves to be this way 'til I'm
believe that I've found
A desire for true love, floating around
Inside my soul because my soul is cold
One half of me deserves to be this way 'til I'm
I made a ten a fo'
Was taking niggas money and was itching for mo'
Laughing in their faces and said you're all making me rich
Till one punk got
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