Lyrics:
Killah]
Big fluffed out gooses on, Stan Smiths
The housing cops can suck our dicks, we jumping out
Of convertible matchbox shits, next drip inhaling
dicks, we jumping out
Of convertible matchbox shits, next drip inhaling
Chilling, my throat frozen, my orange brick
Bottles of Cru', bitches with Baby
ah gunshot bringah
cll mi Dawgs killa
Pussy hole mi nuh sinngah
Head buss like ah pilla
Learn how fi squeeze triggah
When mi gawn by di riva
Execute
Weighin' pale on a digital digit
Fishscale, let it drop in the pot
With a lil' bit of soda to go 'head and hit it
I'm usin' the same water from the boil
heads crawlin, too many creeps (crouchin)
And when I slide by, I glide by
Easy, pa, this ain't no drive-by
So relax the lines in your face
Ease your hands
with the fulcrum, but (what)
Not quite enough
Cause if the non-factor met bad
Posture my little zone combust
The driver hates his job
I can tell by
the gossip, fuck it run off happily
The broken spoke cyclers chokin open doctors they as born fetus
In a matchbox conveniently padlocked to the hammer base
Now
Where do we put our precious things
Like woolen socks and wedding rings
And seance gear and kimchi jars
Our Matchbox and our Hot Wheels cars
(yeah)
If you ain't fuckin' him right, bitch, pass him to me
Real niggas love me from the H to the D
Don't stop, pop that cat
Mm, mm, just like that
them packs
In a black Toyota, Macs by my scrotum
Now its matchbox hot wheels when I roll up
Always online stay connected like a modem
He tryna' snap
your feet up, to the crown of your head... with an exhale all body is softening, both from the outside, and from the inside.
You're immersing in
tonight
Brought to you by
The one and only Cat Pound
Thinkin' it's a game? Then act like professional
You gon' love my flow like Kurtis Blow loves
“Two Cats”By Rhune Kincaid
This is a song about my household where I live.
Yo, I got two cats. So f--ppin’ what?I’ve got two cats. So f--ppin’
Moan
Got the Black Cat Moan Cause I wanna go home Got the Black Cat Moan
Laying by the side of the road
With the diesels flying by
Looks like my head
Head liner head banger wiesz to head shot
Nic ci nie zrobię tylko rozjebie ci łeb ziom
Mów mi bad boy cash flow lej sos
Taki szczyt underu że nawet
wrong move, it's over, my head's poundin'
Thinkin' of you at the wrong moment
Can I handle my emotions?
I know that it's impulsive always being by your
dollars every time my pen rhymin'
Fact is I need ten commas next to the name Ren Thomas
Tell the truth, with a gun to my head I'm dead honest (bang)
Pay day comes to slay
Battle of wolves and bull
Imperial cat animals
Like edibles with addibles
Get's shoot out by a catapult
Each soul to the outer
a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin
You would know him if you saw him for his eyes are sunken in
His brow is deeply lined in thought, his head is highly
again
I zoom right by ya
We zoomin' Matchbox 20 we boomin'
Bamboozled made your head spin
Hooked on to my rhymes
Got you locked
Girls with the clean spot
being shackled to the paper
Broke free while hitting my in the pen dance
SellYourArtNotYourSoul
Waking 'em up with my internal matchbox
Rising Under
if you want it
It's there for the takin'
Not for the easily shaken
Or stand by oven it's bakin'
It's for the fuck that I'm done waitin'
The world is
Macavity's a mystery cat
He's called the Hidden Paw
For he's a master criminal
Who can defy the law
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard
The Flying
For that white powder
A deuce deuce will leave little holes
In your top like salt shaker
Then I'll finish it off with a big cap
On your head like a park
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