Lyrics:
the people
Open up for Daddy Kane and Easy up at the Regal
The radio rarely put their needle on my record
They ain't see how the hood and heaven were
like thirty
I'm the reason you niggas be worried
Put holes in your body no jersey
Give a fuck bout the time we pop out off the early
He was lacking right
So put your fires out and stop burnin' Chris' bridges (woo!)
Hah, you little bitches
When all your love is lost (is lost)
And burning bridges can't be
through
J-Live
I been
Listenin' to records I've collected
Records I've selected
And inspected
Dissected on examination tables
'Til my technique was
world,
Dry kisses that taste like candy,
Can I be your sugar girl,
Just put some ice on my pinky ring,
And fly me around the world,
I owe it to papi,
you in the chain gang
I could put you in Giuseppe
Designer out your wardrobe
Watchin you gettin ready
Tell all of your girls
You wit me out in the telly
the work that we put in
Don't forget the reapers here
Take you back to reaper Ville
Don’t worry I'm finessing
I check you right off the checklist
Put
the money's in good hands, huh
Four rings like LeBron tatted on my dashboard
Fly shit, clean body tatted by the passport, huh
What I rap for? To push
Chorus
-I put my foot to the pedal and the pedal to the floor
Got my hands on the wheel hitting corners on a fold
-Can’t stop, Won’t stop, That’s
The words of accusation still echo
Your every sin thrown in your face
Then God opens the book
Where every deed is recorded
And reviews your records
Just do what's right for you by whatever and any means
And even if it means to run up with the rifle dude
And kill all of your enemies
But I know that
HAUNTING ME
Written by: Phoebe Jasper
Produced by: Phoebe Jasper
Be quick with your words and slow with your hands.
You can have me if it’s just as I
Who made this beat marlon
Let me clear da air Gucci this ain't rock a wear
Uh, I put on my chains while in the booth cause it's too hot in there
We
various heads of state) votes will roll in, bucks will roll in, and, most
importantly, power will be maintained by the groovy guy (or gal) who gets
We own the hood (For real though)
And we live by it, die by it then ya heard me
I got crib in Florida, and I don't even stay there
Been bought
don't do drive by's we
Do pull ups like Sonic
Don't it, remind you of greatness
Leave your ass faceless
I battle you, take your heart
And then taste it
gotta put blue makeup on
your face." I said, "you can piss off! I ain't having none of that!" They said, "You f'king will, if you wanna
star in
and arms
We tear it up y'all, bless the mic with the gods
Whatever's in your heart is where you want to be
My hood is the ghetto
Even when you look
My touch say it's the Midas
We the plus, your man the minus
My team blowing on that slam
Make you cough-cough, that's bronchitis
Put your hands up,
than Katrina
Yeah, my girl you never seen her 'cause my tints by limousines
My touch say it's the Midas
We the plus, your man the minus
My team
were doing alright,
don’t worry bout us please focus on your life.
I keep going round in circles, my mind won’t stop spinning, record after record I
And said Son sang
Record thankful and thoughtful, be such a nice thang
People got to be reminded where it's really at
Make your Daddy happy Momma likes it
I'd rather put out a motherfuckin' Gospel record
I'd rather be a pussy-whipped bitch, eat pussy
And have pussy lips glued to my face
With a clit ring
Nah nah nah, fuck that!
Don't hold me back, the Funkadelic Devil just snapped
With a rap, that's shittin on the story of Jack Sprat
So put your
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