Lyrics:
And since me and Tune had Viacom shook
I shoulda got a real-ass pirate to do the hook
Maybe Jack Sparrow maybe Peter Pan's nemesis
My power's limitless
the Yellow Pages under smooth shit
'Cause Red ain't down for the bullshit
Niggas fucked up by letting me make an album
(How come, rude boy?)
To get
She on my wave
Feel like Poseidon
Feel like the feds is writing pages for indictments
You wanna play?
Okay come try me
Feel like i’m crawling
Moved in your crib, burnt it out
That's a throwaway home
Let's be clear, I make careers disappear
Quicker than Robot Jones
Man your album should be titled
on my Jack Jones
Take everything but that soul
At least you're still alive
I'm evil in disguise
This guy's like black Coke coca-Coca
Yeah i'm liking fat
en je juice-kanaal
M'n nieuwe album heeft je broertje al
En hij kijkt naar me op
Ik hoef niet dat die haat hier stopt
Ik zie het als m'n zaken, toch?
Too $hort, mc
Rap like me, you?ll go straight to the top
Keep doing what you?re doing and you?re sure to get dropped
Like a trick, nothing?s
O.G.'s tell me real good, bitch, I'm the same
Motherfucker make 'em feel good, ya know my name
Bitch, if ya still could, you'd do the same
Made thirteen
by the fucking O-Z
Fucking up your haters and you hoes that knows me
Repping for the South, I'm the man that owns these
Writing these words putting my
Vão’bora, agora é à hora de ir à forra
Acorda que a vida é uma corda estendida
Arriscada prova, coragem e fé não me faltam
Axé, amém, aleluia,
'cause growin up I was never the logical one,
Packed my shit and left home like the prodigal son
With a bottle of jack and my shotgun strapped,
I
Written by George Jones and Jack Ripley
I won't say that I'm the only one who loves her
And I won't say I make her happy all the time
There's
Written by George Jones and Jack Ripley
Just a few of my favorite lies . . .
Lately I don't even miss her
Yes it's true, out of sight and out
like Apple Jacks
I'm cereal, I mean serious, that's a fact
No cap, unless its Snapple caps
Aye, by the way, put them back in glass
The plastic don't be
like Apple Jacks
I'm cereal, I mean serious, that's a fact
No cap, unless its Snapple caps
Aye, by the way, put them back in glass
The plastic don't be
Shit, tired of gettin shot at
Tired of gettin chased by the police and arrested
Niggaz need a spot where WE can kick it
A spot where WE belong,
with the business suit
(Gimme the loot)
Pockets overflowin’ and I still rob you (Heh)
Just copped the Wu-Tang album from the Feds
Now I’m ridin’ round,
Ill be cussing
Stop fronting because you love it
God forgive me I was high
I cannot tell a lie
Well maybe one more time
Cause even I may catch the Vibe
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
Ey you know what time it is, right, hahahaha
Khaligraph Jones, hey Dax what's good
You ready?
Big shout out to Vinc on the beat btw
Let's get 'em
The illest mother fucker
Is in this room right now
It's Baron Jones baby
What more do I need to say
We bout to do a couple things we ain't done
smokin but I'm
Tryin to keep my poise
But if my momma tell me some'n
Missin from her jewelry box
I'ma probably be trapped by my
Peers in a jewelry box
I
trouble
Oh, you realer now?
I'm the kind to cut a peace of soap, put it on the imbecile
Crack the hen rock style, give me the foul
Girls grope then I smile
get into
I'm back right
And I know you know the song
Like Jack And rose in the ocean
I adore you holding on
This is album mode Third
Told my maps
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