Lyrics:
leg broken
Home, choken by roast a deli slogans
To once, quick to get guns I blow ya open
I'm from the L's of the Murderville
Where we possess
sing to the only acceptable offering
All things reconciled by His death on the cross beam
With blood that was clean, and blood that "ca-ching!"
He
to holla
But thinkin bout the easy way out
Puttin a gun in my hand, let my brains hang out
But then I'd leave my mama with the bills to pay
And that's
Honeys' with bodies
With Bravehearts guns in the party
Waves, braids, baldies
Trademarks to army
Is that Horse it must be
I heard he husky
Yeah, there
everything I got so you remember this song
I'm thankful that my life's eventful
A blessing in disguise in other words peaceful
There's someone up there who
off the mouth an she pull out the tongue
Take her a the yark make di baggy come down
You never put silencer on your gun
Oh Lord hear mi iya
Coupla
But I'm not a clucker I'm a dodger and a ducker
Come a little closer I'm a show you I'm a punch ya
And if I can't beat you I get my gun and I'm a buck
New Jack sit, like G and Nino
Shit is real dunn, me and Hav rap for guns
You just a son, you be hung by the skin on your tongue
P.R.'s
hunter, hey?"
And she said, "He doesn't own a gun at all"
He said, "Oh"
Some kids came by
They were getting high
To this new band called Ben Folds
Let's have ourselves a little
Let's have ourselves a little fun
We're not under the gun
We're not on the run, and we're feeling
Fine, so
Uh-ha
Mummy raised a good yute, but I'm bad like my surname Jackson
Fifty cent coins in this hand gun (baow)
You ever heard the MAC ring? Ain't
your niggas all terrified
Unholy Terror lying under the concrete
Fun to make you wonder how
Intense can a song be
The Army we palm heat long Lebron do
know, rather than just a handgun
We'd kick down these doors and
Put the gun to their
Head and I'm just like, "Look, if
You don't give me my money
Then I'm
This the grill what up get em Pace
Lets get 'em in
Girls are like little boys
I'm Michael Jackson I touch em
Guns are like flat tires to
Me I fricken'
one that made her cry for real
I let her hit it once and
She got high for real
If she hold the gun, she by my side for real
Eleven minus one, yeah she
Who’s that? Get back, draw for the MAC
That’s right, that’s an Esco lyric
But right now I’m possessed by Esco’s spirit
(Headshot) Will have a nigga
double my songs
Triple the work, quadruple the guns
And I? sell?
I sidestep the bull like a matador
Blaze? like my sons, yeah at it boy
And with you all
a big head?
I got twenties and fifties and hundreds
That shit just look real pretty when I spread
Go spend 'bout forty or fifty on guns
If them
a cave
Now the fire into flame, empire in a blaze
(We need water)
Settle by the seaside, seas rise, ice caps
Only room for babies in the life raft (Run)
warrior
And this last sword-slinging gunman
Just one more song of machine-gun metal
Hurtling Death to outrun life
Just one more war then we can have peace
Greasy John Deere Cap
(Greg Johnson, Rob Harris)
© Identical Songs Publishing/Jess Libb and James Music (cSCcP)/Carpenter's Cup Music (cSCcP)
Stand
Nah, this ain't a song, it's a lesson and plan
I was broke, but bein' broke don't make you less of a man
What makes you less of a man is not tryna
and spirals in mind
But you know that this song is not about a
No or yes or why
What's really what I say is
That about a resignated sigh
So come along I think
was raised for the ghetto
I pray for the ghetto
Everyday for the ghetto
I was raised by concrete and gun metal
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