Lyrics:
This the tempo to my lullaby
Where Im left here with no tears to cry
Only flashing lights thats passing by
What a fast mind for my last minutes
Im
Cause you've had a
Relatively short career this is
The second album
And hopefully we can ten more of
These but do you have
Any regrets in this short time
started!
Now all my niggas stay dirty dirty, buss rounds by the thirty thirty
Frontin' niggas y'all don't say a wordy wordy
I'm tired of y'all niggas
arguing and bustling
Gangstas of Gotham hardcore hustling
I'm wrestling with words and ideas
My ears is pricked, seeking what will transmit
The scribes
smartphone as hard as you want it
You know who I am (at 7am)
Vapers - with respect, which is none by the way
Why do you hate so much our precious ozone layer
That she won tickets to see
The Chili Peppers play
On Ellis Island
And it was for the release
Of their new album
By the Way
And she won the tickets
By
on the mic I'm un-fuck-wit-able
Invincible, official nigga who they come to
For the hardcore, art of war, rhymes that I got in store
Triple W in curo son
for me and you
Another year with nothing to do
Another year for me and you
Another year with nothing to do"
In 1970, David Peel's second album came
I'm motherfucking chicken-shit
To the ones that's tryna play the E
By the time you get to seven, you'll be six feet deep
Number Eight: Make no
I'm motherfucking chicken-shit
To the ones that's tryna play the E
By the time you get to seven, you'll be six feet deep
Number Eight: Make no
a kiss
Thirteen more rushed my door that's my word
I'm pushed on the floor by the second and the third
While number one still got me in the liplock
Number
Glock cock it
The block rock
Hardcore hooligan, verbal assault chop
Finally televised Kurupt, Daz and Nas
Lethal wit' mics like guns, bats and knives
One, two ; watch out for the man in blue
Three, four; I keep it raw and hardcore
Five, six; you're beating us with nightsticks
Seven, eight; I'm forced
find da MC's by the jazz men
I don't tote guns I tote funds
While you still puzzled how my antidote runs
Your whole vocabulary's played out, admit it
find da MC's by the jazz men
I don't tote guns I tote funds
While you still puzzled how my antidote runs
Your whole vocabulary's played out, admit it
your title is seven
Takin' out your four man crew makes eleven
By the twelfth well I'll go for self
Rockin' New York like no one else
You can
Rewind the clip
Yeah, I'll start by taking back
It's Spring of '17
Sitting shotgun there in my car
You said celebrities are sad, no matter how big or small
your second album
And Me, Myself & I just went 7x Platinum
Toured around the world, damn, you really had 'em
But now you're 27 and it's time to be
when I wrote that Stan shit
But if you wanna see some hardcore Canibus just say so
And I'll come out the egg roll with seven death scrolls
If you can
hardcore hustling
I'm wrestling with words and ideas
My ears is picky, seeking what will transmit
The scribes can apply to transcript, yo
This ain't no
for me
First the one
And then came the two and three and four
Five, six, seven, shots from a MAC-11
Platinum producer killed by haters
Tonight
open that front door
Interscope printed out right by the entrance, door closes
Not a metaphor, then I start towards
That front, that's right, where
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
like wary because like studio time is money and it makes me all anxious
And
Right, right, yeah, but just do me a favour for a second, you can stay in
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