Lyrics:
Cause today gone be a good day
Hit the streets
And we gone party like it's 99
Call up ya peeps
Cause today gone be a good day
The block party lit
wrist all glitted
You would think I'm hot in how low I wear my fitted
Dutch already twisted, 'gnac all poured
'Bout to hit the hood and find me a nasty
mouth 'til the album drop (why's that?)
TrackBoy beat like a freak, work a king on the block
I'm seventeen, name ain't same on the block
And beat
vague image
Via craved mimic followed by
A plague of misery
I pity the fool that rhyme pitiful
Your contacts has no depth like kiddie pools
All your
bitch get to slurping
Big bag all she want is the rubber bands
Hit that then I'm doing the running man
Run the block We ain't doing the running man
Young
[T.I.]
What? (Nigga, what.)
I'm the King of the Motherfuckin south.
(Huh, what? I'm T.I.P nigga.)
Picture that, nigga.
(Try me then nigga.
[T.I. - talking]
What? (Nigga, what.)
I'm the King of the Motherfuckin south. (Huh, what? I'm T.I.P nigga.)
Picture that, nigga. (Try me then nigga.
hittin fo'/
fifty six cities one van and we gettin dough/
call your girls make plans you can hit the show/
tell ya man in the van so he can hit the dough/
Airs (check)
Mean bucket (uh huh)
Armadale in the club, couple of duckets (yeah)
Couple chicks by my side, let's ride
All I need
That new coupe (got
Airs (check)
Mean bucket (uh huh)
Armadale in the club, couple of duckets (yeah)
Couple chicks by my side, let's ride
All I need
That new coupe (got
Guess who's back
Guess who's back muthafucka
Big ballin' ass muthafuckin' Breed
Givin' you what ya need, yeah
Smokin' a gang of weed hit them fools,
I'm
Livin' like a eskimo pull up on Tito
He posted at the local corner store
He need a half a bag
Remixin' wit' half a swag
Don't hit my phone, won't
up I'ma roll one
She know I will make her mine
But a nigga like me can't choose one
She gonna hit me for the business
I'm gon' hit her with
on situations I can and can't avoid
plus big voices getting hot
they constantly sneaking on blocks
they trying to bring me in unconscious
but them pins got popped
on situations I can and can't avoid
plus big voices getting hot
they constantly sneaking on blocks
they trying to bring me in unconscious
but them pins got popped
keys
My degrees freeze consecutively like EPMD LP's
Lick off a shot and hit your fam' by mistake
So I erase the whole front row at the wake
I planned
keys
My degrees freeze consecutively like EPMD LP's
Lick off a shot and hit your fam' by mistake
So I erase the whole front row at the wake
I planned
fin' to ride
Put down the top, now we flossin'
Hit the freeway, let the wind blow, drop the window
Workin' with a twenty sack of Indo, feelin' good
making hits and I ain't got no help
Yuh
All by myself
Don't need a label I'll do it myself
All by myself
All by my
I'm here with my niggas
We icing yo
Come and test it
Life feeling like a show bitch I'm young and I'm restless
I had to go to the basics look at the metrics
My niggas spinning blocks
Had 12 stuck to my chest in the field with the Colt
Andrew Luck with it
We had the rock, hit the block like what's up with it
Jay was in the Z, my
thug, description might fit you
Look around it might hit you, no joke, I wanna pistol fight with you
Shit comes around faster than you think
Blood
Oooohh, yo Vice drop this heat dog, ugh
Hit the bass line, yo Vice what you're doin' man
Straight up, ugh
I'm too deep to quit, and too strick
A half a ki, in the trunk is all mine, so penalize it
I hit the block, serve a flock of that, good white girl
Bust 'em down, bag 'em up and serve
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