Lyrics:
to the jaw
I know ya just bustas perpetrating like ya raw
Mash it, Trash it, search couldn't pass it
The trick's last album didn't even go plastic
Some
Real love don't have an image
Not magic witness by havin’
Bitches or grabbin' riches
If it's about your own self-validation
You’re bound to fail
you stuck in a three
So you know your floss game ain't nuttin to me
When the sun hits the cross, yo it's something to see
are-be , Kid Capri niggas
So all hail or get tossed towards Hell, whatever y'all feel
Briusin' niggas, confusin' niggas like Chip Fu from the Fu-Schnickens
Hit you with
so tired
Music is supposed to inspire
How come we ain't gettin no higher?
I know you think that you've got it all
And by making other people feel
a album don't you call this one a tape
RIP Sad Frosty copped a crib up by the lake
This hit gon last forever bump in 2028
Aye I done came too far just to go
Hop back on the scene
Hold up, let me talk my shit
'Cause man, I got to let y'all know
Exactly who you fuckin' with
Kept the real shit for my album
always fun
When it comes to nuts, I bust'em one by one
So what's the 4-1-1 hun
CHORUS
[Mary J. Blige]
Yeah nigga, what makes you better than the next
we together we should put it in a song
Anytime you feel you drowning mane don’t let it guide you
Let me make an album bout it called Penn’s Bayou
By
Next album that you hear
The last from me
Feeling hella eager
To be leaving 2020
Yeah
Dead by Dawn, 2021
Coming soon
Album number two
But for now
I guess
a comeback like I'm Tony Parker
Call my assistant I need me cover
My album be fire
Ill still drop another one
You mimick my style
You got nothing on none of us
cocky till gun a gun cocking
Thats enough watching from the sidelines, peeking my eye by
All I knew i had to jump in, I'll be a nice guy
Three albums in I
Yo what's up guys welcome to the Nasy podcast
It is your host, King Squishy
And welcome to this lovely album we call "The Youngins"
So today I got
Don't be surprised, look in the sky, yeah we finna fly
I got a suit, I got a tie, now I'm finna slide
Do a drive by, in the new ride, that shit apple
on the grind
And I'm taking my time
I mean, I know you want the album but the outcome gotta be divine
I'm S.H.A.D.O.W. Superior and еverybody know it
Plus I
Rebel, renegade, must stay paid
Not by financial aid, but a raid of hits
Causing me to take long trips
I'm the original teacher of this type of style
get scared by angels
I have no fear to fail because I'll get through it
To get me through my hell, I had to make music
And I wanted to do it different
six albums in two years and
Every damn one hit the Billboards
And I kicked a twist and hit number two with
That country album that I made for 'em
Then
Still fightin paranoia
Anxiety at an all time high
Better days that I'm pushin for
Are what help me get by
Sheez still roll brown haze by
rhyme to get paid
Airplanes flyin', overseas people dyin'
Politicians lyin', I'm tryin'
Not to escape, but hit the problem head-on
By bringin' out
has hit my mailbox
And has not been stolen by my former houseguest who has my Spare keyring
A hundred to the house for their hospitality and $55 to my
a mil before my album hit the shelves
And I ain't talkin' bout no signin' bonus (uh-uh)
'Tics went platinum to remind ya homey
I'm not a restroom so
KRS One is just the guy to lead a crew
Right up to your face and dis you
Everyone saw me on the last album cover
Holding a pistol
Something far
Even if I made an album
With a Punjabi hit-squad
Clash me, I'll make you jump like Kris Kross
Make a man know, that I'm not a nimrod
And if you still
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