Lyrics:
something they’ll remember
Before they crown us kings, rest in peace young simba
We have come this far by faith, leaning on the Lord
But now you got to get
they're taking toll
If you've been bad, Lord, I bet you have
And you've not been hit by flying lead
You've not been hit by flying lead
You'd better
crushed wit bleadin lips
Bet I, leave these chips, and a C.L.K.
After I hang plaques in the spot wit Run, D and Jay
[Chorus 4X]
and four chords repeated
Completed by a relatable lyrical concept about an ex or something
This isn't for the masses
It's for the
musically analytical
So
be the best grime artist
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
divided into half ounce portions, four
Bags and a larger one
I stuffed them in the pockets of my leather jacket, along with the smoking apparatus I'd
Built
wicked deams (deamons)
I keep my pistol by my bedside one in the chamber
Preoccupied with homocide my life's in danger
Rollin down the four-five beware
a reflection of your heart. That words alone could never capture. When I write a Christmas song, it is almost always born from a moment in my life, inspired by
kill it
I'ma kill it
My nigga its the
M-A-Triple-D-O
Don't forget the C ho
Visualize the audio
Its album number cinco
Lyrics by the Doctor
You're
back
And I'm sure The D.O.C., he can vouch for that
Let's go!
By Any Means
By Any Means
By Any Means
By Any Means
I've been told that I'm""The One"" by
a man like D-E-E, come on
Come on do you really think I give
Two shit's if you're greazy?
I don't think so
You man ain't seen greazy yet
When my mandem
four million albums worldwide
Marshall Mathers LP also deficated to him
Another genious tribute made by Slim
Proof were also shot, so double RIP hymn
a sermon
Spittin' sick is a gift
I've been blessed by the lord
Been the illest since they snipped
My umbilical cord nigga
Yo, what the fuck is up man?
To a funky beat to make you have a ball and
Jump, make you move your rump on the floor and like pump
C'mon don't be a chump, I see four and maybe five
a Mag
You a fag, you love being ass to ass
Grab a gun by the nose with the butt to gat-spank ya
Never say that I'm a gangsta (now that's gangsta)
a fuck, say you could run that shit back
And fuck your loud pack, and fuck your Snapchat
Cherry Bomb, the greatest fuckin' album since the days of sound
No I.D.
Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it
On the 101, my wife text me
Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed
Instagram: @Mek_4real
Twitter: @Mek_4Real
SnapChat: Mek_4real
Artist/ Writer
Euphony
Socials:
Instagram: @Euphony.I.am
Prod. By Mo
Instagram: prodbyMo
Mix
when the big one drops
Am I in sync?
Immortality is what I'm buying
But I'd rather be immortal by not dying
Laboratory rats made Roger a fink
town boi you know I do it 4 the side
If it's real funk nigga then Im down to slide
And if these niggas want the smoke then let's get em high
Thratt
back and laughed
I took the Rx Pad
I got the 4D yeah its a AutoCAD
Double XL might as well be a redeye
Dropped drill bits as I walk by
Cotton Hill type
wicked deams (deamons)
I keep my pistol by my bedside one in the chamber
Preoccupied with homocide my life's in danger
Rollin down the four-five beware
thought I'd drop on by and wish you all the luck desired
I wish you all the souls your little mouth can tuck inside
You'll always be that special part
Track: “Toddlers (prod. Bri Crisp)”
Artist: Bri Crisp & The Sargent (as Young Associates)
Album: “Summer Solcrisp: Vol. 2”
Year: 2020
[INTRO: SAMPLE
.jpg/217px-Arena_Corinthians_Opening_(cropped-Pitbull).jpg "Pitbull")
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