Lyrics:
you fuckers wan' vouch
Going up for the team, now I'm going South
What the fuck ya'll be doing, that shit stresses me out
Ya'll take me for a joke, not
ducks"
I dug in my pockets so I could load the milli up
And all I felt was Phillies blunts, I'm pissy drunk
Body me, how can it be? We blood brothers
Brothers
Brought to you by Self Serve Airlines
Make sure to grab your complimentary pre-roll and edible
But please don't let the kids eat it before you do
If
see y'all) yeah
Ya Mean? Ya Mean?
Ya Mean? Ay, ay
You see my pants sag low
I'm smokin' on the dro
You can tell by the swag
That the young'n gettin'
from the norms
And soon millions of folk
Records were being sold
By the early sixties, Dylan, Baez, Phil Ochs
Were doing intellectualized copies
head hanging low
I noticed him when he first walked in
And he was addicted to drugs but he said I feel it
And brother I want to get up and testify
So
vs. the world, me and my dawg, it was us
Then you went and wrote a statement, and that really fucked me up
My brother lost his life and it turned me
Ay, Bentleys, Jet skis, we are popping bottled out the esky
Call the last shots but brother don't tempt me
A man on a mission and that is why they
you don't show up
My brothers have the tec, pull up and you gon' get towed up (word)
Roll up more blunts, keep gettin' lit off the doja (woo)
It
whip drive by
It's Diaz up on it again, oh my
'Nother new album that's no lie
Thought that was it? I ain't never say bye
You do what tell you you don't
riding with firearms cocked
Fire bomb box, set up by your mom's block
Go off on time, 'cause it's wired by alarm clock
I get his legs, you grab him by
a good thing that it rain
When you really fucked up
Just know life finds a way
Wrap my mind around this situation
Always find a way
Thought I wasn't makin'
ha
But these hitters women like Madea
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Ay, oh let's do it
I ain't fall off, I just ain't release my new hits
I blew up, now
Brother fuck your ego lets
Be cool and make the thing go
And we'll be okay we'll be
Okay ay ay
Be the thing you day
Do way we no day care
Ma brother no be
don't like to walk the fucking walk
On some plank shit
Rolling up a doobie
Scooby homie finna take this
Hit it twice pass it back
I ignite roll the Dutch
mac it sounds like shit
But I'm doing the best with what I got shut the fuck up bitch
You can spend thousands on a mother fucking album and ma maybe
money , why ain’t cash money, Put no cash money on your albums,
Cause you trash dummy,
I know that’s funny, you birdmans bunny,
Here’s my plans buddy,
up my drunk a lot high
You get the drunk talk, dick feelin right, right, right
All I need is X.O. to set me in
Bitch I don't need yo pussy fought by
The name is Eazy Bob Wizzy
You welcome to the album fam
You welcome to the album fam
You welcome to the album fam
You welcome to the album fam
A yo l go by
head hanging low
I noticed him when he first walked in
And he was addicted to drugs but he said I feel it
And brother I want to get up and testify
So
the Glock ay
All I know is you gon get shot ay
Pull up on me and my brother
Down for the ride or die like no other (no other)
mother said it's D'd
She be trippin bout some shit that only fuck up him and me
Wanna grind and build a lane and pave the way for all my brothers
No matter
a doobie I tell em batter up
She wanna ride me, uh I told her saddle up
Im tryna have some fun
Grind it roll it up, but I don't twist
This my medicine don't
and she's down with The Roots crew, and she go by
The name of Miss Jill Scott
I want y'all to put y'all hands together
Uh, uh, say what? Give it up
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