Lyrics:
scheme would eat large, nigga
Keep it on you, fuck the feds
'Cause every team hit hard, nigga
Al Green at the barbeque
Turn on that pocket get shot up
on tour?
Did Smokey Robinson, have to shoot his way out a war?
What has Al Green seen, that made him religious?
Was it the drugs -- put an end
through on tour?
Did Smokey Robinson, have to shoot his way out a war?
What has Al Green seen, that made him religious?
Was it the drugs, put an end
dioxins
My man's truck crashed, the radiation plant burned
Spit ran out, lit up like Green Lantern
Bentley on the wrist, while I'm drinkin
Warriors put 'em on a
Higher plane like Al Green
Nah'mean - - they hear when I talk
Got that white girl and that
Green lady like Fairmount Park
Any nigga
that got canned
But I'm stickin' it out on this al-bam (Bam?)
I mean album
Was on powder, not talcum
Ask Malcolm in the Middle
Everybody ever give you
el Chamako Zion Baby, con galante el emperador oye poniendo los planetas en orbitras papi ya tu sabes, you know? DJ JAM Mr. Green Jam & Yatzi The Hit
every hour puff the Al Green
Hop in the car, drive the 3-D
Blow down the windows, raise the P-be's
Parents, they roll up, don't understand we
I
popping they top
I'd rather pop bubbly, one for B-I-G and one for Pac
N****, trust me, I'm hot as they get, like Al Green
Getting hit by a pot of them
the teachers, even more by polices
How'd he get the cash? The day his father passed away
Left him with a lil' somethin, 16 he was stuntin
Al B. Sure nigga with
and I live by the Fifth Amendment
Every sentence that I'm representin'
Don't get intentions that I was intendin'
No point is intended
But
mo' trial
Released on this wild earth, my generation hit worst
Will my development arrested by the government
Younga niggas strugglin', livin' life
bitch, I'ma let it be known
When I let the baretta go
Niggas betta hit the flo' (ah)
Get the chedda and go, I repo green
Flame spitter, with a deep ol'
watched by gold diggers (uh)
Rockin' Bejor denims, wit' gold zippers (c'mon)
Lost your touch? We kept ours, poppin' Cristals
Freakin' the three-quarter
Best times were the times where we would link and sing
You would hit them notes I was never on the key
But you would swear Im Barry white or I was Al
Italian roots like Al Capone
I got pills, green and blue, pick what you want
But I know it's hard to choose, that's why I'm so gone
I don't need true love,
youngins been eyeballin my shit
No bitch i need al that paper ain't no fifty fifty split
I told my brudda save my that profit 'fore that poverty hit
You
Living life I just wanna hit the top
But I still ain't got shit
But everybody got they hands out
I just wanna check a bag
Seem like the world against
it's a brick
Cut up a slice hit the switch
Murder the fruit it's a hit
Tag it and bag it and
Flip it a spin it yo
Look at my wrist
Roni all up in my whip
you like Al Green
And melt your face
With a hot pot of grits
And I ain't got a pot to piss
But I'll throw you out the window
You and your bimbo
Rising
here
Standing firm
The obelisk
Write like a novelist
Drop you in a bottomless pit
Bombing s***
You better evacuate all the occupants
Do you like Al Green
Rolling through clay co about a hundred grams
Get it by the bundle, nigga, like I work at Sam's
Money coming in, Uncle Sam, I'm Sam, I am
You nigga broke,
on that green, conversations like a movie scene
Before we hit the block, know a nigga need some Visine (Visine)
In my own element I'm in the zone, feeling
How the fuck you sitting at the table and bring nothing to it
Built this table all up by myself and I ain't gon' fucking lose it
Say that I finessed
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