Lyrics:
for my homies, Pat and DJ Screw
R.I.P. dawg cause I really miss you
Boy I'ma stay true, until the day I fall
East coast and West coast, this is how we
grease, and elbow room
Baby play me, baby fall down, go boom
Party people gather round, count down to apocalypse
(I'm the kid with the golden arms)
grease, and elbow room
Baby play me, baby fall down, go boom
Party people gather round, count down to apocalypse
(I'm the kid with the golden arms)
But I
Can only read fax by candlelight
Dead technology
Oh baby be flip phone cause I
Will always be your game-boy
But I
can only read fax by candlelight
love our music slowed down by screw
[Lil' Flip]
Down south lil flip wreckin all these boys
Major labels don't even wanna call these boys
[Lil' Flip]
you're right! Good ear! This is reminiscing music, Oscar!
Oh boy this should be good.
I see you in the living room with an game on your ipad
Oh man
You
man Caprice own
You finna take off them twenties and put them big 23's on
Watchin' the latest DVD's with the TV's on
It's hot AC in winter can turn
Cuz I need me that bag and I need me them keys
Young trey big boy now he AP
Used to wanna cop the rollie I was only sixteen
now every day we
sapne lage out of reach
Mein dena chahta winners speech
But I ain't gon' fall off my feet
But I ain't gon' fall off my feet
Mein dena chahta winners
Game would say
"Hi!"s name in that manner
Many years went by
Still no legitimate answer
Anyway, I put out a mixtape in 12th grade
Hub City threat, minor
talkin' 'bout that nigga from 'The Lost Boys'
The barrel was too big, you had to see the fall
You had to see that havin' it all was just a casualty of war
catch em at night
Send his soul flying yeah just like a kite do
That boy gone see what that light bout
Trapping I never got caught by the jakes
Nigga I
I just hit ah mode pass go I can't just stop now
Used to be the strong silent type I talk a lot now
I'm the golden boy it's a problem niggas pop out
Jukie cats talk about boom bap and golden ages
Patting themselves on the back for making that new outdated shit
I've been putting out vinyl since '93
and I want it
Hold my body boy, pull me close
One by one
You have taken me higher
We got no Bic or no lighter
Think I'm ready, I'm letting go
One
again I prove that
Any radio show, any DVD, any stage show man
Put me up against gimmicks
Sound effects or skippy flow man
Don’t think that you’re cold
on the block, Yayo in the coffee pot
Yayo in the rental car, I'm sold out by ten o'clock
Chicken soda, chickens flock, pimp 'em like I'm on the sky
On my third
wood with wheel on
With a flyin' bitch some old gangsta shit
Flat screen DVD's smoking stank and shit
Ain't dat shit Sunday bull tank and shit
Top down
Before she is misbehaves and she Choke me
Black raves out of blue feed me into a slaughter machine
Bit by bit her sweet speeches like honey
Enough to draw
of us
We might have lost the whole darn place
But we were bound by the code of the Muskateers
Such golden hours were shared
By the freckled-face boy
My eyes woven, glitters golden
You gon' catch me when I fall
Pictures broken, bitter potion
You don't answer when I call
It's been a while
Seems it
I’m writing to you from a Santa Fe bar room
Out of the corner of my eye, I see you
I’m road trippin’ to the Golden State
I’m trippin’ til I roll
holdin' out for three
Two seventy five and I just might agree
Ex-D-boy, used to park my beamer
Now look at me, I can park in my own arena
I only love
Rain
Ville make the hall of fame, nahmsayin
Så jeg tok en tur til Hollywood sekken
Full av dreams
Skulle make the big screen, by any means
Så jeg
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