Lyrics:
to send an Uber
My new bitch wanna get pieces made from my jeweler
Drive-by's with Rugers, twenty racks for the shooter
The FBI heard I can make cocaine
where my rubber band mans
He's a banker by nature
He'll call and slick of the debt that you owe and thank ya
He'll switch the toys out never
distract us in the stu because if you do then you'll be leaving
Pull up to the club my boys be looking for a beating
One hand on the AK had a freaky kinda
greatness (Uh-huh)
My man Hell Rell's in the building, BX borough. (Uh-huh)
J.R. Writer's here, you know he's the Writer Of Writers
Right now, I don't know
Snake plants, Florida water
I only wanted ever be a good daughter
Soft hands, gold rings
Try to remember most everything
Like feeding grapefruits
a baby
I cannot understand
I keep that commie tommy gun under my pants
In my hands
Make you dance
Fuck a no melody
I am the melody
Kill the beat
All the heads I'm counting
As they tumbling
Down the bloody fountain
See you wondering
Like my shit's confounding
Hold me back, hold me back
Hold me
of my t.v. screen.
24-7, You wait for me.
Entertaining angels
By the time I fall to my knees.
Host of heaven, sing over me.
Entertaining angels
blasphemous asking us hold crosses
There's more of us than Florida oranges and lost orphans
I offer thought for food in full courses
I'm soaring toward
blasphemous asking us hold crosses
There's more of us than Florida oranges and lost orphans
I offer thought for food in full courses
I'm soaring toward
my own)
(Suck on my balls)
(Suck on my balls, bitch)
(Oh!)
(On my own)
(Suck on my balls, balls)
(Hell no, hell no)
Middle fingers up (Middle
come to give a shit
Now sing this part, it goes like this
All my people in the front
Go and clap your hands
Go and clap your hands
Everybody in
your name?
Not to be looked down by the saints?
FUCK YOU!!
What's it like to kiss in the rain?
Hold his hand on the train?
Or never pray it's just
on me
From a boy
To a man
Ain’t a soul that could hold my hand
I was cold ‘til I saw my chance
I was cold, no emotion apart from blank
Distorted devotion
high, hands up high
[VERSE 1: 50 CENT]
You wanna dance lets dance nigga ill take you to da prom
I'm armed tre pound in my palm I'm calm
Nigga my mamma
strong with their hands in the air
Up and down like hell, yeah
So fresh, so fly, so sweet, so polite
So much, too many, but we ridin' tonight
Well, it's
who are fiending
Mama's boyfriends who are creamin' in their pants for little girls kisses
Little boys' hands to hold
Endangered, so unloved
Some
Betty
Her pussy got wet and it smelled like death
I was tired as hell, I was drippin' sweat
But I was all up in her tryin' to hold my breath
Bake
Betty
Her pussy got wet and it smelled like death
I was tired as hell, I was drippin' sweat
But I was all up in her tryin' to hold my breath
Bake
to
Steering wheel in my hand
Trying to hold it steady
Anything in my way is dead
'Cause that's the way I feel, I am already
When I'm drunk by myself alone
How'd you get so so so thick
Ha ha
Lets Go
Yea
Ciani on the Beat
Florida Boy
Boys night out well that was the plan
Double shot, double shot now we
man
I do my thang man, shout out to my boy Oskee
My boy Oskee, my boy Oskee hold on, hold up
I said, they gave my nigga 20 years
Man that wasn't even
none of my beef
I'ma ride to the end of the road if I have to
Praying no car speeds by for me to crash to
Steering wheel in my hand
Trying to hold it
other than the Zombie Apocalypse Blues
You say, what the hell is that? Zombie Apocalypse Blues? Let me explain to you, let me explain, hold on now, hold
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