Lyrics:
Lala I feel like Mr anthony
I ain't from Ohio but I
Buck at hoes randomly
I put that cain on em like Danity
On the canopy, man I did it for my vanity
You
cream
Slow it by the moe, call me medicine man
Oh you ain’t know the connect is my man
I keep my drugs free, drugs free
I live drugs free, every day
Tom Traubert's Blues tom Wait's (1976)
(Sung by Tico Torres)
Wasted and wounded
It ain't what the mood did
I've got what I prayed for now
I'll see
Working for a paycheck trying to make a buck
A hundred miles away from needing tires on my truck
Bills are in the mailbox weeds are getting high
Baby
on Bleecker Street
I went in to see her as a kind of joke
And she lit a candle for my love luck
And eighteen bucks went up in smoke
Sharon, I left my man
it tonight (what else)
Only sixteen, way too tight
But age ain't nothin' but a number- number
Baby got her hair done by Shanda- Shanda
Nine nine
And lowercase people
As time rolls by my dreams have become,
That which is attainable
Not what I'm looking for
I've got the company car,
I'm the one
down on Bleecker Street
I went in to see her as a kind of joke
And she lit a candle for my love luck
And eighteen bucks went up in smoke
Sharon, I
dollar that you're bottom buck chumps
Give it up, it's a juice thing I'm stepping for the rep and
Wrecking all the rest and, weapon testing on who's
bucks will roll
In, and, most importantly, power will be
Maintained by the groovy guy
(or gal) who gets the most media
Coverage for his sleaze naturally
My energy kinetic
The fitted hat by Ebbets
(Yessir)
(DJ Drama) Yeah
I like sugar, I like sweets, I don't like the spicy eats
I need bridges in
test
I get you buck 50'd by a dyke that look like Mannie Fresh
Vacay in St. Maartens and Arubas
And I still do this for my hood boogers
Who don't
huh, buck em.
It's a 211, don't make it a 187
It's a 211, don't make it a 187
It's a 211, don't make it a 187
It's a 211, don't make it
rap shit
Get blown off the face of the Earth by the G.P. click
Whoever wrote the book on hip hop we revised it
Now adapt to the Shaolin chapter
ass
I'm chilling in the pen facing life or death
Now my little brother wants to follow in my footsteps
Chorus
Buck buck
Niggas get touched don't step
body?
Can I touch your body?
She slide by and lay low
She slide by and lay low
She slide by and lay low
She slide by and lay low
Shawty, we
to find
One day we'll meet again in that sweet by-and-by
But till we're back together
I'm living on the love he left behind
Our little boy down
‘em *gunshot*
Pop in that, in that and that hood
Hell I even call a little funkin in the back woods
I give props to St Louis, props to Memphis
Buck
mo' problems - and I ain't got money to solve 'em
This is just another day in the life
Gettin' mobbed by fans - man nobody even knows who I am
This
bitch
Another skull gettin crushed by a lunatic
I'm blowin motherfuckers domes till the year 2000, oh
187 on your ass hoe
Motherfuckers keep slippin
hustlers play
(??)
I'm a treal ass hustler, a for real ass hustler
That made it create it not to be imatated by you trick ass busters
Straight hustling for
pony and a Navajo
Who used to bake frijoles in cornmeal dough
For the people passing by
They thought that they would make some easy bucks
By
The mic was passed and that's when I found out
(People from everywhere watchin the show)
(You're intrigued by the way I do my thing)
(People from
For cheddar we mash on sight
I done came a long way
Ain't no time to be being broke
United for cash we got's to get paid
By any means necessary
Live
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