Lyrics:
think you're Beckham, try your luck
Big Michael's back, your time is up
Alright, check this
Man can't tell me 'bout stretching fivers
I was on my
Fucking cut you when I see you, Michael
Fucking bitch
You like to be nice to your fans?
You fucking faggot
I put a fucking veil over your little kid
stage by a gay crowd (not Drake)
It was them Tyler, the Creator fans, he was on Flex show rappin' 'bout fuckin' a man (weirdo)
Casanova had that "So
being impolite I'm tryna by sincere
But your body your body got me feeling like I'm tired of being lonely
Got me feeling like I'm ready for wedlock Got me
as hell
Nobody wants to see you in Expendables 12
And yes, you tower over me
That much is clear truth is
I'm even shorter than your football career
You
murdered by George Zimmerman
Boy, how do we feel?
How do we feel lately?
This kid was 15 years old being followed by a grown man with a gun
We were very
freedom ain't free, we got to do it together
That means (what?), by whatever means necessary
I'm doing God's work, so that means I'm too blessed to worry
Down, I said I'd Rather Be With You
George and Bootsy, what a hell of a crew
But since you've been lost, yo, I've been so lost too
So Flash your Lights in
Yeah. In the penthouse on the corner.
By the way Stephanie, does your Michael drive a red Ferrari?
Yeah.
Peggy, does your Michael have a cabin near
a man in a checkered suit drove up in a big
Lincoln continental, and he laid a huge,
Bulging envelope right at the corner of billy the mountain,
watch yourself, St. George is on his way
I can tell by the look in your eye
You've never seen the man with nothing to say
I can tell by the look in your
tell you how it was
I'm the dope man, dope man, yes I am (yes, I am)
Turned your baby mama house into a drug lab
I was usin' all the forks, usin'
You sound a little crazy
But it could be the heat
I'm roasted like a chestnut
By the fire of your feet
Your body is a furnace
Your love is the coal
I'm quicker than Leonard, hit harder than Hearns
Your mother's so old that she fucked George Burns, ha
My rhymes are fixed and your rhymes are broken
social justice or
Being really into Trump
Well, fuck me, I'm all by myself
It's not my fault
I'm like Peter Pan but racist, I'm based
Fly through your
(bad)
Now, what's your CashApp? I'm tryna hit you from the back (hit you from the back)
The Addy kicked in (yeah), I'm Michael Jackson bad (yeah)
Now,
patterns
Guided by this valley of the Nile magic
I follow shadows sundials cast in
I think I'm Michael Jackson
The one that MK Ultra spiked with acid
and bang
If a nigga don't know better peep the game
SUC we running thangs
Finna smash me a nigga
I'm a young gun nigga by the name of Trae
Wrecking this
Lorde
On that Poitier, that Michael Corleone
I'm on the phone with politicians, bring them troops home
King James on opposition, hoop game is strong.
How I was born
Not how we living
For cops I'm easy Pickens
So please tell M.E. again how many
How many
How many
Eric Garner-John Crawford III-Michael
your pussy lips on live, I'll give ya a thousand dollars
Boosie was bein' too thirsty, I'm just bein' honest (he was)
If doin' too much was a person
because I'm being you every week
(by the way it seem that everybody...)
I grit my teeth and bare it (you know this judge? he carries a grudge!)
Just
can see him all the way down the street
Don't you have to pay for George to be here?
It's not quite your turn to say something
Now it's your turn to say
that cookie like a monster
And I be leaning in that gushy giving you butterflies while you say I'm in your stomach
Aye girl you better go you better run
Discuss these im your man dvd by george michael 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