Lyrics:
..... gordyn wat so hang daar by die venster uit bye bye waai
En die brief van someone uit somewhere in my hand en die wind wat draai teen my (Timotei
Who was ate by a lion it's told
So I left little William by the tigers' pavilion
And round to the monkeys I strolled
There was one great big monkey who
nipple
And I'm fascinated
I'm so fascinated
By these special people
Frank Langella
He's my kind of fella
He's got an x-tra nipple
And I'm
wassup
I gotta bad bitch
I got bad habits
Pretty young thang and she fuck me so nasty
Body my drug got me feening so badly
Hit from da back got her callin
the towel
I'm getting money with the rap, pay me by the vowel
I'm hungry like a pack of wolves so I just howl
Holla, Cash rules everything around me
So
and say it's real, real good
Be on here with Guggi said is real, real good
Silk the chop of my chopper, young nigga get la segualla
Look at my finger
can carry more than one so ya know it's on
And ya just got attacked by the maniac and played like a saxophone
Sucker ass bitch-type ass niggas
[Master
to the mid to the east coast
Verse One: Master P
I got heroin and cocaine
some call me the dope man a young nigga havin thangs
A thug like Tupac
young
So many things we left unsaid
So many songs unsung
Dad, don’t worry now I’m grown
It’ll be okay
You taught me well, so trust me now
And I’ll be
you soon"
When you were young
So many things we left unsaid
So many songs unsung
Dad, don't worry now I'm grown
It'll be okay
You taught me
until recently, controlled the entirety of the diamond trade from mine to market to aftermarket. So let’s start by examining the age of the tradition,
always cry on my birthday
There's nothing special about being 21
Don't wanna celebrate, it's so cliche
Here's to 21 coming undone
Staring at myself in
roll, c'mon
I got this young chick, she so immature
She like, "Why you don't buy me Reeboks no more?"
Like to show out in public, throw tantrums
Let's celebrate let's celebrate
A chicken birthday, a chicken birthday
Let's have a bo'party, a bo'party, a bo'party
Let's have a birthday
Let's have
every second stackin'
Paper every week i'm in the field nigga
I might run up in some cleats
Was in Japan so long I
Almost learned to speak, had to leave
Well, I'm so tired of crying
But I'm out on the road again
I'm on the road again
Well, I'm so tired of crying
But I'm out on the road again
I'm
smilin' like you happy but it's really nothin' special
I can't fuck with you, we can't do no biz
'Cause you's a broke ass bitch & I'm so damn rich
what they've said
I've got I've got
So many mixed feelings in my head
Baby we gone take flight
If u stick by my side
Yeah I want to rise and rise
But I
lost
Oh man I'll get it by force
I'm on my own
Breaking tru these thick walls
You wanna see?
Then open your front door
I roll my sleeve
So i look like
all the young punks in spikes and hate
walking around like every years 1988
looking so bad, in boots and tattoos
playing music your grandma can
True story ain't no lieing
A wise man can play a fool but a fool can't play wise
Unless you judge me by my cover so you can't read between my lines
boujee
Ka di man purse tsa bo Louis
Ga re tsena party re a e duba
Barefoot the original Cooker
Red and blue stripes on the car keys
So she gon lemme klapp
Blurb
Here is a collection of poems by the Russian poet and engineer Konstantin Voskresenskiy, who is known to Russian and English-speaking audiences
with no maskets, jobs can't be soppy
Grippin' the bail with the doves to bust you with my tongue
Now I'm a savage young nigga witta chopper
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