Lyrics:
no drive-by's
We walked over
COB bandana tied to the end of the AR
Iller than they are, rhymes so sick
Give 'em the day off
This is the chaos, Nicolas
the dominant
Your honor this, cut your mic, I'm in control of all of this
Welcome to the 2nd album where we find ourselves surrounded
By some people venomous
ain't know
Skull and cross bones maybe dull but not broke
The host of calm flows the ghost of tom jones
The roast of blonde hoes the coast only dawn
about to straight drop that later
Jones! It takes 1 stove, 4 pots
Half a key of that straight drop
Baking soda, let that water hit it
Then you mix it up,
[Chorus: x8]
This a trap
This ain't no album
This ain't no game
This a trap (trap muzik)
Welcome back to the trap
Niggas back in the trap
Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison
This is war
Get my posse
Hit the bank and set it off
The bank is the word of God
Set it off as a man of the cloth
an artist getting money like I gotta be
Now a Nigga stay high getting More head
No more days riding a moped
Hit the Chevy lot and by me a Corvette
Kinfolk
cars big stars like it's rock and roll
Let's rock and roll
Dip-set, this is Jim Jones man capo status
Santana Killa, the don the album coming March
Chauffeured by the latest and greatest strand or brand of pessimism
This album’s dedicated to a basement fulla addicts
It’s too hot up in the kitchen
Had
an album by Traverse
c collection of different emotions, thoughts
Triumphs and tribulations
Enjoy
Twan Beatmaker the hit maker
We’re sorry
Your call cannot be completed as dialed
Please check the number and...
You hear that paper callin’?
I got
Flip the beat back, now it's all reppin'
Hit the record sto', never let me go, get my whole collection, yo
[Chorus]
It's, the, return
[Verse 1]
My, first album had no famous guest appearances
The outcome: I'm crowned the best lyricist
Many years on this professional level
Why would
Catch a Rémy Jones, hit the sto' and only flip a half pint
Nah-ah, that's what I ain't gon' do
Let my big cousin rock my Roley to the club tonight?
Nah,
been hit that gas
I been going fast
I been poppin' xans
I been poppin' xans
I been hit that gas
I been going fast
I jump out the plane like I'm Tom
take what I want
So, you tried to front, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
My, first album had no famous guest
Yoda
A Florida, Pensacola
There's more to roll-a by Motorola
I'm in control-a, I hit the quota
I made this beat sound while
I was in Minnesots
Fuck,
that win
And the enormous fields disperse of rap
On the road to the riches, more furs to drag
More niggas to kill and birds to bag
Hit the jeweler
album went six thousand on niggas
In Kansas City alone, we packed the dome with Mike and Liddy alone
In the west side, Lee Jone, Milly Mal, I left you
the beat back, now it's all reppin'
Hit the record sto', never let me go, get my whole collection, yo
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
It's, the, return of the Prince,
take what I want
So, you tried to front, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
My, first album had no famous guest
though, in my Nascar
With this Nas flow
What could beat that? Not a soul reppin'
Hit the record store, never let me
Go, get my whole collection, yo
I got
and lunge it
The truth is pain so they numb it
Can't let that honesty come in
Day by day say I'm gonna quit
If I don't just write a hit
My ex say I'm not
tonight
Overnight superstar, the spotlight
Eating dinner next to Tom Cruise
Getting props from Trackmasters to Ja Rule
In between some bomb fool
Baby momma
.jpg/300px-Wallace_Collection_(1969).jpg "Wallace Collection")
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