Lyrics:
Fill up the air with the lights out oh,
Running this town like a damn hound oh,
Eating with the gang how we gain pounds,
Party in the house how we get
the matrix
To witness what happens
I'm actually flattered by rabit holes madam
When magic relaxes my third
Eye's in tune with the person in you
But my spirit's
in the air
Like you don't care
Blow your whole bag throw them bills in the air
Like you don't care
Now go get a girl get her to dance
By handing her
be sand
Could be desert
Could be a tract of arable land
Could be a house, could be a corner shop
Could be a cabin by a bend in the river
Could be
In Sodom techno beats strike drugged up teenie girls
Knifers kick their heels in packs 'round black cars
Sin city's bankers vie with mafia launderers,
Daz we about to fry niggas like fries
And separate them by five's and light up the skies
Crip that D P, Kurupt
Dippin' and I'm out, put a dick in
of age fell down
On a pair of ears
An eagle shined through my hole watch pocket
A gingham girl, baby girl
Passed me by in tears
A jack rabbit raised his
the haters in the rear
Auntie Doll house, help her with that water every week
I went and balled out and my money taller than Wemby
You did some lame shit
Walk
brains out
Ill blow his mutherfuckin' brains out
Nigga I got your back
You got mine
Lets keep it comin'
Throw your guns in the air
Uh-uh no time
But this my call by the false Prophet, all Prophet
Harlem hustle, I can't at all knock it
But you hard when you go in the Lords pocket
What you
House with the view
Sipping Demi sec
Demi sec
Ye
Pockets full of stacks
And the bag too
Too
Couple of my Dollies
In the bathroom
Ye
Taking pretty
Carried By six
Back against the wall like shaq
Up in the post
Gotta keep the stick close
Niggas be doing the most
But I see the bullshit as I travel coast
into the sun she stares
She feels it die, I heard her cry
Like the scream of the butterfly
Sunshine a house in flames
She likes it where she gets
the steeple
I miss the morning dew, fresh air and Sunday school
And now all the houses are rare antiquities
American tourists flock to see the village
the clock, the steeple.
I miss the morning dew, fresh air and Sunday school.
And now all the houses
Are rare antiquities.
American tourists flock to see
in the air
You tend to my sicknesses
Shadowed in the garden
When it all burns down
Every word that wasn't unsaid
Will all be wished for again
A man
can we skip to the part where we're making)
(Gingerbread houses in the kitchen while we're singing our song)
So when the air start feeling crispy
I need
Up in that house all by yourself
Pictures to keep you company
Never think of me
Got this blanket to keep me warm
But it don't hold me like you did
giving me an aneurysm
You care too much about your nihilism
Fuck the hippy mafia
Your deus ex machina
Ain't in your pulp leaders
So kill the cult fiction
Quien era el q estaba mal
CREDITOS
Este es Miguel Ordoñez
Mafia Calabi in the house
1998
Con Dj Glass en la pista
(Dimelo Gian Beats)
La Mana Inc
greece, cant leave the house without a piece
No paper trail no receipts, run em down and I wear them like geese
Go ape like Maurice
Pitbull in the sheets
I'm inhumane livin' in this house of pain
Stuck with a thousand street hustlers
Down on they luck
Repeat felons caught up with the death I was
(Hey, you only wrote this for the money, didn't you?)
Connie Johnson got a farm in Wisconsin
And a diesel in the drive and her air horn's honking
elementary
Repetition, that's the definition
I'm a Hot Boy under air conditionin'
Shoot the gun with the left arm limpin'
George Jefferson in all seven
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