Lyrics:
I woke up out that coma 2001
'bout the same time Dre dropped 2001
Three years later the album is done
Aftermath presents: Nigga Witta Attitude,
I just threw away a quid on a scratch card
Just another hip-hop kid tryna act hard
Reaching for the tip top but it seems so far
Sick of drinking gin
Wanna play with me like a new toy?
It's cool with me, I'm a rude boy
Influenced by Houston
So when I chop it up, you screwed boy
Think you fly, shoo boy
Workin hard with our hands burned by the sun
Hope that our hearts don't get calloused up
Yeah life is a test of doin' the best that we can
Load up
reminder
Escape the drama in 05' by tape rewinding
Old cassettes in my Daddy's dresser that was my first assignment
Playing "The Chronic" while the chronic
to church and be delivered to God almighty
So what was you stressin' boy?
Do you need protection boy?
Was throwing out gang sets in your rhymes a confession
a infrared on your head
I hit the right shot
You heard I’m not into beef that I’m vegan
And that I got a bad bitch in From England
You heard I’m Eric church
"produced by me"
Fuck with me, you get no more Sleep, no more sleep till I R.I.P
Hold up, how I do rock, metal, Trap, rap and all of it flowing Like agua
You
this evil
If you scared go to church
You know I can't get caught up in em' ways
Get a Glock fore' a nigga spray
When u kneel make sure u pray
Spin
At days arrival one man at the table
Eatin' corn flakes checkin out the paper
His brother walks in from a hard nights caper
Half hungover
No we don't beef
On house arrest with a assault rifle
I can't even leave say my name
Ima make that GANG pull up where you sleep
I'm surrounded by
my problems for at least a little while
Didn't mean to be an addict
Just picked up some bad habits
I hate to feel hungover, but I don't wanna be sober
caffeine
And I don't even see the need to keep on pleasing mrs prude cunt
Fuck the customers I'll get to fucking up the rude ones
Driving home I make
I turn the fuck up like a rockstar
Gotta white bitch and she act hard
You can get toasted like Pop-Tarts
She thought this was Supreme, this is Goyard
free me
I'm like Eric, I don't do to much a talkin', it be hard for you to read me
So these Glocks ain't got no safety
I watched a ton like RG3
If
best believe I'm operating
Holy Spirit got me geeked power up super saiyan
Like my brother church said gotta learn to have patience
(Psh) Stop it why
My mama gave me up when I was four years old
She didn't destroy my body but she killed my soul
Now it's cold 'cause I'm sleeping in my back seat
Three-hundred pound nigga, po-po has to fuck him up
They say that my projects shall undergo therapy
We never voted, we voting for Oprah, Obama, and Eric B.
type a nigga
I'm a straight up take it type a nigga
Pistol whip a nigga 'til I break it type a nigga
I'm hard on chumps, most of these dudes is fags
pound nigga, po po has to fuck him up
They say that my projects should undergo therapy
We never voted, we votin' for Oprah, Obama, and Eric be
Guns
wanted war now you got one
(Got one) with the hard workin', God fearin'
Sweat drippin'
Hard headed country folks like me
(Church, Church, Church)
Tats
a record company, givin out advancements
Get my money back, by any circumstances
My million dollar spot, not to mention
Drive through service, Church's
Say Oohhh I love me a Southern
When I was a child, I made up in my mind
That I was gonna find me a southern man
He leaves his work-boots by
taught in church and at school
Now she deconcecrate her religion by worshipping idols like the heathens do
Can't hook up with a good friend coz a bad
Discuss these hungover and hard up by eric church Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In