Lyrics:
they asked Doc boy if he go tell him and he said yeah he'd go
He found old John sittin' in his homemade rockin' chair
Thumbin' through a worn out
near old Juarez
There were rumors, that Old John Brown
Had been shot dead
Sheriff Parker knew better than that
He knew John was just hiding out
Biding
Nigga, you need to git up, git out and git something
Don't let the days of your life pass by
You need to git up, git out and git something
Don't
Nigga, you need to git up, git out and git something
Don't let the days of your life pass by
You need to git up, git out and git something
Don't
the Claire,
We strip 'em and beat they brains out,
I gotta give p's to all ah my Trues
Steadily paying them dues
We niggas with nothing to loose,
Trippin'
Uh
1st & (1st &) 15th (15th)
Woah, uh!
Lupe Fiasco's Food & Liquor
Is lovingly, hand-crafted and done
By the good folks, at 1st & 15th, yeah!
these loopholes in life, while yall niggas out here still look for hoes
I had to break a bitch down, I had to change her thoughts
Put the cocaine in her
basket. And
finally Oliver St John-Mollusc (G.C.), Harrow and the Guards, thought
by many to be this year's outstanding twit. Now they're moving up
[Master P talking]
G man, why don't you go on, pass the dank
Let's take a lil' break ya know whatb I'm sayin'
Before we finish this album up
Boy, we about to fill they motherfucking head up with this ghetto dope
Time to break these hoes off somethin'
Got my niggas Bun B., Pimp see, I
white
I might just break em off, when I come dripped out right
Im talkin shoes by Hirachi, shirts by Versace
Hoes they gone watch me, but they all wanna
shit they didn't like
Ridin marble white
I might just break em off, when I come dripped out right
I'm talkin shoes by Hirachi, shirts by Versace
Hoes
out
I'm the H-O-R-R, the N-E-Y, the rest is F-L-Y
You see, I go by the code of the master of the dicks
And my penis will tell you why
You see it's
, I couldn't find a way, to break it off right or wrong
Dear John, I didn't have the heart and I'm still in love, but it's over
He was down and she was
John this year
Ball like Lebron this year
Stormz got a platinum plaque
But you mad I'm getting bronze this year, yeah
They wanna buy the flavors
mistake my tastes
I ain't sweet I ain't bitter
I stay in threes company
R.I.P. to John Ritter
Had to swim thru shit
Now I'm clean as fresh cut
Things fell
lines and I'm ducking the law
Get a P for 23 what you want got it all
Man her ass is so fat it might bust out her drawers
Glock 19 on my waist and my polo
guerrillas, mercenary killers
Beat's by the Pound, haters get clowned
Gone worldwide, but true to the underground
(P and Silkk)
Blow coheva blunts, keep e'm
for your country."
"They're standing up, waiting to see if Maris is going to hit number 61"
"Godspeed, John Glenn."
"Happy birthday, Mr.
making hits, fuck that!
Verse One:
I drop clarity like kerotene, everytime I speak out
Rappers freak out, but never stick their necks too deep out
Cause Im solo, rebuilding
There aint no need for the bricks
Every shot going to count this time
Like bullets making domes split
By John Wick with the yicc
of a master
You never thought you'd be bodied by a bastard
A bachelor who backspin on breakbeats
Break necks of broke souls who hate me
Hate he? you can't
We been reaching for the stars all our life
Ain't got a money counter so we count it four times
I don't trust too many so I keep it by my side though
the Sagittarius A, prrr!
Little by little
I'm building my building
I'm building my skill list, I'm building my feelings
I'm building my kill list
I'm billing
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