Lyrics:
and camcorders
So what you tryin to tell me dear?
I got Bently, Benson and Mr. Belverdere
And I just want to blow your mind
I'm talkin literally blow your mind
like them
Kids after school
From the Yards to the Harlems
We the ones makin' it boom (Boom)
Tell 'em make some room
Third mom just stepped in the room
"You know what he did?"
Everyone's frozen in place
You know what he did? (What'd he do? What'd he do?)
He raped some kids
Whoa, whoa, whoa, not true
mom's crying that he hasn't come home
Next day Mr J reveals a plot so evil
His reporter friend thinks cops slayed two local leaders
Who were gonna prove
Rev. ain't right, his church ain't right
Deacon is a pimp, tell by his eyes
Mrs. Parks said, "Brother Starks, meet you at the numbers spot
Heard you got
a choice
Not really
Think theyll be less afraid and give me some more time if I pay all the fees?
Thats the spirit Mr . McBride
Let me check
(Praying)
God
and Cola, I told her get both
Kid Cuisine dinner she whip up a bowl
Oh, oh
Get on the floor
I wrote this, I wrote this, I wrote this, I wrote this
See me
it's finna go up (Jesus)
A year done went by, her daughter just turned one (Lord)
And she's still dependent on her mom
Big brother in the streets, he
it's finna go up (Jesus)
A year done went by, her daughter just turned one (Lord)
And she's still dependent on her mom
Big brother in the streets, he
Sheesh
Pussy, I ain't on the count, but I'm locked in
If I don't call your mom's, moms, we are not friends
This ratchet like a tennis racket, make
attendant he was always on the move
Ever since a kid Arokotoko would look at the moon
See a plane fly by and say "I hope you bring my Uncle soon…
I hope you
She got a .38 sittin in her purse
Cause my moms was the King County Jail nurse
So how in the hell could you tell Mix
That I never lived this, when you
Proof and Eminem
Your father left you as a kid, with your mom in the crib eh
That's tough as hell don't understand why he did eh
Oh used to call mom
song about it
Why don't you sing it
Ring the alarm here comes the Com
Call me Mr. Hollywood, check it out!
Ring the, alarm, here comes, the Com
cheese
Bitch in the back an she rubbin my fleece
Bitch in the back an she riding for me
An the number rule don't get lined by a treesh
Hit the studio once
No this not a cypher, it's the Bop Anthem
If she don't get the dick then she finna throw a tantrum
After she gets piped down, gotta ghost her, Danny
there's a Heaven you would think they'd let ya speak to your son
Maybe she has in the form of a baby's laugh
I heard passing by in a stroller, remindin'
100 rounds
Royalty drip on me, tonight I'm sipping crown
A light flex, shorty on that keto diet but my kids she digest
When i terrorize the pussy she
iPod Nano play me some Mac Miller
Think it was 2012, I was 10 with the bops
I was young, with one rap song called Donald Trump
Only other songs I had
Wanted to know if I could make a bop song
Look I did
I've got a hook and everything
Are you proud of me kids
This is the thanks I give
To all the people
Bro, I gotta get sponsored by other big bro, little of a plan, you know what I'm saying?
I gotta call that shit guy of her self-defense, baby, got
thought gets muggy
We them easy street kids from Mr. Bryant's basement
Wishin' for the Apollo, tryin' to get dough
Now my time moves slow, ain't
sort of chilly
Then I send a shorty from my block to the store for phillies
After being blessed by the herb's essence
I'm back to my rest, ten
and charbroil her on the bonfire
And bon voyage, bitch, I'm like Chef Boyar-dee in this bitch
Send a bomb to my mom's lawyer
I'm a problem for you, boy, you
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