Lyrics:
hit
I need some cheese, cheese, cheese
I ain't smiling bout sh**
I want them VVs on my neck and all on my wrist
I'm shooting green beans all this year
I
Tired of these rappers, tired of these jackers
I'm tired of these dances by these fuckin' backpackers
And I'm sick of all these hipsters, I'm sick
well
We are some partying mothafuckas"
Tired of these rappers
Tired of these jackers
I'm tired of these dances
By these fucking backpackers
And I'm sick
representamos marihuanos
Smoking the green shit , así hicimos el pacto
Con las calaveras , formamos el asalto
Muchos no creían pero seguimos en contacto
Cállese
the free-throw line and bang
Now, I bust and crush tracks, nothin' really changed
Except, twelve-inch scars on my body
What I mean by that, I was hit by some
Green on, got it on repeat
Girl, you all I (Al Green)
Al Green on, off the alcohol, she on alchemy
Coming after me, what she say to, what she say
I'm smoking everywhere I go
(No sticks, no seeds, just Al Green)
I always gotta keep one rolled
(I keep that, need that, got that)
I'm blowin' every
op m'n gezin
En wat m'n zoon is
Zeg je mattie hoe het zit
Wie die ouwe van je is
Als ze vragen wie het in Madame Tussauds is
Yes track 3, produced by
We straight
Extra, extra read all about it
The Legit Ballers came out with with an unbelievable album
Fuck a truce put the side on the news
Got
on hard
I be rippin them tracks
And by the time it hit the shelves
I'll be gettin' it back!
So many niggaz playa hatin'
So I'm totin a gat
Pistol grippin',
[Redman (Al Green sample)]
Yeah, Gilla!
(Right now, right now, right now, right now)
Yeah, Gilla!
(Right now, right now, right now, right now)
Ladies
drive em
Home theaters, can't Best Buy 'em
These niggas that I roll with
Don't let a single thing get by 'em
King pins and them drug lords
Chi-town,
Yeah, be the realest shit I never wrote
I ain't write this shit by the way, nigga
Some real shit right here, nigga
This will be the realest shit you
I'm smoking everywhere I go
(No sticks, no seeds, just Al Green)
I always gotta keep one rolled
(I keep that, need that, got that)
I'm blowin' every
They
'boutta hit this muhfuckin' album
(Oh oh-Oh, yeah yeah yeah yeah, whoa)
Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah
I done seen a lot of things, yeah yeah
Nowadays, sit
It's not usual, the game be, all up on some South shit
Straight west coasting, you can tell by my outfit
Red 'nati fitted, "Blood in, Blood out"
know many pose a perfect picture Secretly they hoes
All that time you spent on writing it but you not Living by the code
I can't stop the cooking; album
hoe
You gon loose your green like Piccolo
Remember when I used to sit alone
I'm not by myself incase you didn't know
Trynna get paid like a fucking
Tretí track bol hit
Takto by som mohol pokračovať kým track neskončí
A oni aj tak stále povedia, že ma pretlačil refresher
(Ha)
To sú presne ti isti
lightin' the green
I need the bucket, even though I look right in the beam
Judge find out it's my team, he boost they bails
Niggas throw us on they album
[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
a shadow that wears suit and tie
Marks, marked by his green eye
Risen from the lake of fire
He walks the Earth, intent most vile
Greased palms, subprime
stalker
Words thrillin', so real they're chillin', the hit author
Gettin' louder than a shot gun, you don't want none
Rhyme pays was the name of the album
Al Green melodies for times that we need hope
Eb & Ivory mags and wine bottles on the table
Broken down caddies parked on the side, 'til they repo
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