Lyrics:
the goat, and lately feeling like Brady
I know that you bitches hate me
I love that I drive you crazy
My highlight reel by Scorsese
No McCoy, you acting shady
the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
Years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it!
cold
Bitch we stone cold
Bitch I'm stone cold you can call me steve austin
cnd I got a couple rari's out in Boston
Right now i'm with my niggas
They
Punching my clock. Now I'm wanted by the manager
Soupin me up sayin "You're a good worker,"
"How would you like a quarter raise, move up the register"
"Large
a ventriloquist
Don't hang out with suckers worth less than piss
Suckers can all come kiss the tip
Of my knob when I aim I don't miss
Aim it to suckers that
You die more. I roll the dice, I die less
I digress. You never got the point
Blunt tips lit like ET's finger point
Found my face clad in gold next
sellin' bricks
By the pound Pick your mans up, nigga, I put that boy
Out of bounds Scorin' hell with buckets, nigga, Karl
Anthony Towns My clip long as my
Senior Constable George Devine had been sleeping soundly when he was suddenly
woken by the sound of a galloping horse. It was Saturday, February 8
my way
Yeeeaaaaaaa
First god took my grand mothers
Then he took my aunties
Streets got s dot they just took lil Steve
Damn a nigga heart is heavy
But I
sayin’that I ain’t legit
Well, I guess that’s as dumb as they get
My mind is made up I won’t quit
Don’t mind if I sit by your chick (Wassup, shawty?)
Hope she
still hold two open hands up in the sky
Finger quotes
In my gangly youth my limbs used
To swing like Polo tees mazal tov
Still pop a bottle like what Puff
looks
By your 13 looks, so
Hit me when your fingers get a minute
(I seen you on twitter talking shit about my other girls)
Hit it when your fingers get
on
Let the cries out
Wave a whole chicken by his
Legs near the crotch smells
Sweating bullets in the tip
Blow torching his flesh
I seen his face melt
Drip
all up in my face
They know he be cheating
Ain't my nigga but doing drive bys
Popping up at my crib checking me about my guys
I don't want em you
ready for tha loss
Both bags on the tip on my finger yelling bring it
I'm swingin' that iron (that Iron) when I'm swingin' that iron (that iron)
Ain't
Finger tips on my back
Hit me like an ambien
I can fall asleep
And forget everything
I stood up on the balcony ledge
Got down 'cus that's not me
I'm
The first time you kissed my lips
The first time your finger tips
Touchin' me couldn't resist
The first the first the first
The first time
through the words
Like a million times before
It?s everyday things
When time stands still
There?s blood on your finger tips
Do you feel the chill
David
lucky, my God! Flight of Icarus in those grubby dirty by now horribly sticky little fingers and
hands and grubby palms, and oh what else is grubby, I don't
steak
Goes on my plate
Asparagus tips look yummy, yummy, yummy
Candied yams inside my tummy
A collage of good eats, some snacks or nice treats
Apple
The endoness
Westside
Geah, see'mon uh
The endoness, uh (stick em)
Damn, must be the shit
Hitting at last as you burn them finger tips (damn)
Must be
your skin like Coco butta lotion
Invoke your emotion
Through my poetry devoted to you Through my emotions
Oweee
Graced by him I'm mesmerised
Juicey S I
the lyric skills like Pelé
Tip educate 'em, my rhymes are strictly taboo
Fill 'em with some fantasies and I'll look out like Tattoo
Ok, I am recognizing that
a little Steve Earle Copperhead Road
I'll lighten your load anyway I can
I used to have this gal she nagged all the time
And she went through my money like
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