Lyrics:
some dynamite
A big box of matches he swallowed all serene
And out he went and swallowed up a quarter paraffin
He sat by the fireside, he didn't
Goin' hard on 'em though
East coast let loose, my nephew, Papoose, he got the juice
So watch the Impala as it swing by and be on the lookout
For them
Sun-in on our hair by evening it would look like hell
Orange, brittle - hey who cared as long as it still feathered well
I'd be lost without my email still
Real Pimpish
Feelin Real Pimpish
Got Me Feelin Real Pimpish
Big Wheels On The Ride
Got Me Feelin Real Pimpish
Peanut Butter All Inside
Got Me Feelin Real
Straight out of Nashville, here's your next big star
He don't write the songs he sings, but he knows the words by heart.
Wears a cowboy hat,
man
So proud.
Mama's gone crazy 'cause her baby's shot down
By some teenage car chase war out of bounds
It was the wrong place wrong time wrong end
own untouched by you. WHAT WILL I DO? (Chorus) How long will it take to fade the old wounds? There is no fading from an empty room. Your spirit is still
as time goes by.
I guess there are many broken hearts in Casablanca.
You know l've never really been there so l don't know.
I guess our love story
to find you
But I've been looking for something for so long now
But then when I look at you
Something in that open honest grown-up smile
Frightens me
Raindrops keep falling on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
Nothin' seems to fit
Those raindrops are falling on my
to my enemy
And conquered by my memory so mother fucker
Sit and act like there is ten of me
Shut your mouth and pour a mother
Fucking shot of Hennessy
pulling mussels
Everyone was there to greet me
When I stepped inside
Newspapermen eating candy
Had to be held down by big police
Someday, everything is
uncredited (uh)
I don't care how big I get, I still remain unedited
I built this from the ground up, y'all just living it
Long hair, don't care, I'm not
the fucking haters hate it
Here comes the mighty ones they call whiteys
This is cinematic but ain't
Directed by Spike Lee
It's La Coka, not 40 Acres And A Mule
though, dude
I've been sippin' Bombay with
A bird's eye view tryna kick it at thе crib
With a long ass queue
You remеmber all the days we
Smoked outta old
skit's, skit's
Big long 'chete, tryna fling it at melons
If I stab kids, kids
Then who the fuck did it on Terron
I don't really diss, diss
I didn't wanna
and you're not a big shot
You probably picked locks, sold some weed in your mama's ziplocs
Nigga kick rocks
I'm known for sparring
Pay in full or bury your
ain't sayin' its no type but you hear the exhaustion
Fuck what you heard, I'm surrounded by bosses
Got sticks and the clips, so you better be cautious
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