Lyrics:
contacts. I was determined to meet someone, either a famous artist or rising pop star. Anyone that would want to record one of my hundreds of Christmas songs
you off
Broad, with the cause (yeah) bitch on a mission
Keep them niggas by they nuts while you hoes be dick kissin
Missing the game, damn bitch it's
and opium, numb
Someone plays 2 Pac out the jukebox
The bartender slacks off
I swirl my glass for some new rocks
The record skips the records skips and now
raised by psycho-crazed lumberjacks.
So in a battle I be stabbin',choppin' M-C'ss like trees,
Piece-by-piece buildin' cabins.
I'm a maniac magician,
Weapons
Niggas Knowing you Pretending
How you Doing all That Talking
Niggas So Gangsta On the Book
Get In The Booth Record A Song
But In The Streets
haunted by the skeleton
If you got a beat tape out let me get it then
If you got a dark beat on it I’m a kill it then
If I got a song in me I’ma sell it
Konje this is the last song
Yah neh
What a journey it has been
I wanted to close this with a rap song man
But now that I cannot rap
Wanted
a twist
Sage mode Uzumaki
Storing chakra in the wrist
Never will I stress
About the label that you on
Talkin' down my music
Shows you listened to my songs
really rude
Ah-ha, eat the nigga food
I'll knock the stuffing out ya muffin, fucking knucklehead
Never did it wrong cause you singing the song all in
on the table by the game chair
Have a great night
Dream about me (I love you have a great night)
(Girl) You give me wings I could fly
You put the song in my
doin' with that big ass-
My ghetto love song
Set it off, set it off (I wanna be your friend)
Let's be friends
Where my niggas at?
Where my niggas?
doin' with that big ass-
My ghetto love song
Set it off, set it off (I wanna be your friend)
Let's be friends
Where my niggas at?
Where my niggas?
I heard an old song playing on the jukebox
Ol' Otis singing about life down by the docks
It was an old familiar tune, one that leaves me sad, leaves
Homieadda eh homieadda homieadda yeaaah
Homie had it up to here
We been stressed out
Flex when it's needed
Imma press down
Button hit record
I don't
wrote son
Lemme see I'ma, it's my turn, I ain't get a chorus off yet
I'ma go in first then, a'ight
That's three songs and out, let's do it
Hook
Cam'ron:
just a write off
Now you're feeling neglected and rejected
Check it, it's all about makin' records
CHORUS X2
[Maestro Fresh Wes]
You want to see
me shut the fuck up
Blow Ludacris in the hoouse
The needle hit the record, they was playing this song
All the ladies hit the floor and it was EH EH
To the gig at Che Stadium two years later
Every record in the Top Forty on both sides of the Atlantic
is written by Lennon McCartney
And finally they get into
I'm not a good self-promoter, I held a certain order
For my tracks and the way I select them
I clean off my records in an effort to protect them
I
I step to the mic
That's why I never understood the hate I get when I write
Back when posting new songs on Internet rap forums
All the way
on stage
And take off all your clothes, then you,- strike a pose
You knows and I knows, that's how you sell your record
Because your shit is butt, you
keep on stepping,I'm stepping on toes
I'm not fazed by your weapons ,I will keep on stepping I'm stepping on toes
I will expose these records I will keep
produced his records for, I got to hang out with. I was also blinded by the fact that I, I did actually really like his family. They brought me into their
fucking favorite song
I walk around with my cape in my arm
All this materialism strains my back
Not even warm
Might crack the matrix way I snap on these
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