Lyrics:
Yo man, that don't even sound like AMG, man quit bullshitting.
Man, that nigga be perpin' like he a pimp and shit, you know what I'm saying
But if
a psychotic wicked clown
Fucking my friends ain't healthy
'cause I grab you by the face and fuck you up
And it's like that bitch that's the way it is
I'm
the shit that make these niggaz act like straight hoes
And you can shut it down, sit back, and think awhile
And stop playa hatin because I'm comin versatile
the crowd
Now how that sound it's all bad, but me
My fellas roam my home sweet home
Now who you gon' call the police on?
It's like a three man punch
You can
a lot of love In my heart
My soul is old
Just Like a rock covered in moss
It's green like the pot
That I'm rolling up on the spot
Hope I don't get spotted
part, that's what I call a mohawk
Side part, tough bod', masculine, so hot
Guarded by the fellas so the protein is beyond bar
So far, brothers 'bout to do
Yeah, what's up? It's that time in the big city
98 hot degrees out there
Check it out there's a party goin' on all day at the beach
So fellas you
I use to imitate the good fellas
Now I want to be the good fella
To help make the world better
We can rise to a new level
Stick to the code by
pockets hostage
But if we providing, I really feel this shit is out of pocket
Support determined by a man's wallet
But I'll be there for my children
No
get off
Winners stays on, winner plays on, winner like the Malmaison
I’m a winner, my 5 like a break for 20 thousand and people don’t never put hate
the living proof
Voodoo moulin rouge
De Belarus
Drunken by the blood of saints
Like I'm sipping Cruz
Yet I do this for the juice
Vultures on my roof
Third
Fellas? move like that
All my ladies, a-a-all my ladies
All my ladies, a-a-all my ladies
Oh oh, oh oh
Oh oh, oh oh, yeah
Oh oh, oh oh
Alright
till the day that I die it's L.B.
from the year 95 and true 'G's
1 for the money
2 for the Lie
3 for my peoples in the struggle gettin by
4
a blessin momma sing for the future
[Chorus]
[Z-Ro]
Me and you is like a feelin that I get when I roll on 22's
And I'ma keep you stylin when I'm shoppin
(what?)
Know this drink bad for my kidney (drink)
But I keep sippin' and I'm
Gettin' trippy like three sixes (uh)
Juicy, sweat suit made by medusa
[Chorus: x 2]
Now who that is talkin' that about the Tics?
Somebody probably jealous 'cause they got hit
But ain't nobody else droppin' hits like
Jones and them boys sleepin' at that wheel
I'm not sure it was better back in the day but music meant somethin' and had somethin' to say
It's about
break it down quickly on what really happened.
Papa dearest never around he ran and flee
The only rhythm he done danced is being a dead beat
Scared for
break it down quickly on what really happened.
Papa dearest never around he ran and flee
The only rhythm he done danced is being a dead beat
Scared for
to tell you he's a hell-a-swell fella
Well enough to tell you that we know each other
Better than we know ourselves
Like freaks of a feather we'll rock
And sniff me out like I was Tanqueray
'Cause you're my fella, my guy
Hand me your Stella and fly
By the time I'm out the door
You tear men down like
up by the miles
Yeah and I keeping that drip by the pound
Been doing this shit for a while
Yeah, fishy for my frames
Might go catch a lil flight outta
Now move your ass, I like that
Tight hip-huggers, low for sure (whaddaya got?)
Shake a little somethin' on the floor
I need that, uh, to get me off
you know I gotta give
More for the dancefloor and I'ma give brain sore
Kids revin and buzzin just like a chainsaw
I make em say: Damn man, that Kid,
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