Lyrics:
so much racist hatred shit not being accepted by the crazies and drizzies Dre Dre He So So Dro How could you diss tho' Yo You Don'T Even Know How Sick
album had no famous guest appearances
The outcome: I'm crowned the best lyricist
Many years on this professional level
Why would you question who's
take what I want
So, you tried to front, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
My, first album had no famous guest
and blue oh baby
I love you and you and you
But that shit don't hit no more
No more no more!
Mouth agape he vomits technicolour pills with scriptures
straight
Burnouts in a closed space
Still blow the O's, but it's no vape
Homie album like a mixtape
Now he follow orders that I dictate
Chances are you gon'
Crazy as a loon
He throw us all in jail
For carryin' harpoons
Ah me I busted out
Don't even ask me how
I went to get some help
I walked by
the banister
Shoot him on camera then kill his manager
Then hang a banner up
That reads you can't proceed
Without bein' conceived
By one album of the 90's
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
At the end of our tale, the specimen is in distress
Whisperer still doesn't feel at peace with himself
And the space that surrounds him
He is
of the loud get 'em OT
Drank by the case, took a pint to the face
Like P. Diddy, Ma$e, remix with the Codeine
Served K-roll to a lame ho, he gon' OD
Big
[D.M.C.]
Crack, crack, cracks in the cradle
Cracks, in the cradle
Cracks in the cradle, cokes in the spoon
Little Boy Blue higher than the moon
Will he, will
You understand?
"When I get to heaven, I'll see my grandmother there
She'll say 'Great God almighty, here come my child! He must've got here by
mind kept on moving take
The picture it's a movie
Paparazzi and these models
My MO they wanna follow
I dropped the first album now
They look at me like
a longbow
Drew it back with a real ass arrow
Told this kid he'd put it through his bone marrow
Dead serious eyes all narrowed
I was pretty scared so my
this old black man
He taught me about the blues in life he laid down the facts man
I'd go to the ghetto and I witnessed poor first hand
Too bad them rich
whole with old Florry Walker
The event lives only in print
He said "it's alright"
And "it's all over now" and boarded the plane
His belt unfastened
cost you brick
I got to the bread with out hitting a lick
Imade it legit by taking them trips
You flexing the money I'm stacking the shit making it
swell
This morning, this isn't normal, we took him to the doctor
We thought he might of broke his hip bone and it would heal
It's crazy how life change
little crimson pinholes sweat on vintage quill venom
Developed by a fatal blues anthology.
Communities on cue bury their ostrich beaks.
Thought it was
describe the feeling, for real (oh glory)
Baby, I paint the sky blue
My greatest creation was you
Your Grandpop died a nigga failure
Then he died
chilling for a while
Til' they take out your child, over ten miles per hour
Routine by the book, eighteen white, mistook
Thirteen black, he crook, blue bitch
a few songs now I'm laying in bed and
All I can think is how my brain is shredded, hearing my album is something you've dreaded
Like Proof at The Shelter,
Blue lights and I'm starting to panic
At yard watching Kayden
Fuck Maydon
What the f*** is he saying
Sort of sounds like he's praying
The high ledge I'm
Wake up in the morning
Didn't have my legs
Yeah, they got blown up by a fucking I- uh (It's called an IED, I-E-D)
Uh... IMD or something like that
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