Lyrics:
locksmith
Raised in the jungle, you would think I'm adopted
By some gorillas, monkeys or chimpanzees
Bare tings ah gwan as I creep through the backstreets
the world know
That you're ready for show
Count 3 and let go
Before you turn around and go home
Down by the lilikoi
Near the old stone wall
follow me
[You see me whippin’ nigga]
See this monkey ain’t moved by what y’all see
[With all the fixings nigga]
Because a free black man is what I’m tryna
Still dope, vibrant, natural game
No ring, no chain, still bringin' the pain
Still dope, got no choice but to cope
Listen, take notes, I'm showin' you
stunner trumps what
You niggas blundered
I uppercut 'em by the bundle
Nigga take a number i'm bout my butter
Never let them suckers take me under
Cold like
you can take a hunch
And find that I am the baby of the bunch
But that's okay, I still keep in stride
'Cause all I'm here to do is just wiggle your
a fact
You in 'The City Of Brotherly Slugs'
Home of all the gats
When the law make an arrest you take a rest
No cardiac
You ain't got the heart to attack
stay with toasters like an Eggo
Them dudes sick
They a stick a pool stick in your A-hole
Ayo, I been had killers on the payroll
When you was still
handed out by the gallon
Healthcare is free
Abolish the prisons
Don’t tread on me
I Ain’t a victim
You fucking kidding?
The place is fucked and you ask
the sound alone ya heads blown
Still scorin in the red zone you best of head home
or get thrown to the dead zone
Son we need to ill, interupt the Grammy
Just let the world know
That you're ready for show
Count 3 and let go
Before you turn around and go home
Turn around
Down by the Lilikoi
Near
On Tuesdays and Thursdays
You better watch for the sweep
Look them people gon' act a ass if you get caught in the street
I'm layin off in some room by my
Of that brass monkey on some drunkie shit
You, R&B fake rappers suck a monkey dick
I'm from back in the days with the Christmas
For haze on my back,
brass monkey on some drunkie shit
You, R&B fake rappers suck a monkey dick
I'm from back in the days with the Christmas
For haze on my back, stripped out
you're limp and talkin' yang about me
Why don't you take your monkey-ass and get a college degree?
Or write a rhyme and ride a bike and try to live
for the ones
That ran out of luck
It's like a punch to the gut when the jig is up
I'm a home run hitter you can't hit a bunt
I'm biggin up all the ones
sometimes it take shit like this
You niggas, you niggas
You know what, let me talk to 'em yo, uh
Back against the wall
Hands dirty but still scuff 'em
Fuck
the Tillers
Self-made nigga you know it's true
I don't pull up with the after party
Just going home all alone
No reception, two phones
Swae Lee, No flex zone
The night is dragging its heals till the end
Now he's in your face.
"Got any drugs on you mate"?
You get out for some peace
Still get home by our feet
you can take a hunch
And find that I am the baby of the bunch
But that's okay, I still keep in stride
'Cause all I'm here to do is just wiggle your
Aiyo, come on home wit us man Harlem World U.S.A. man
Take a walk wit us on our block man, See how we live, DIP SET!
Yo, yo, Come on home wit me,
when you surrounded by demons (Lord)
I watched so many people leave, I see them change by the season, that's mama's seasonin'
God got you, the devil's
of the handgun)
Land of the beautiful (home of the shotgun)
Cursed by the hate we throw (You're dead if you ain't got one)
Is this the new national anthem? (It was
(land of the handgun)
Land of the beautiful (home of the shotgun)
Cursed by the hate we throw (You're dead if you ain't got one)
Is this the new
.jpg/220px-Take_Me_Home_(PC).jpg "if u take me home.")
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