Lyrics:
The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave
Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave
Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot
Figure
Twisted man
Uh yea, it's Wayne Gretzky on his neck piece, (huh) got em feeling real
Hefty on his best week. Huh but let see (let's see), he say he make it
she knew what he’d say.
I love you. I love you even if you did this to me.
He’d say it as if he’d forgive her for taking his life. As if he knew she
how to behave
Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot
Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute
That's seven shots for Tupac
Seven for
know the same joy I
Feel when I look at you"
Tears filled the boy’s eyes and
Rolled down his cheeks
While he sniffled his mouth
Tensed and trembled
nigga steady savin his flows for me?
(He wanna get paid)
And why this nigga basin his whole life on challenging me?
(He wanna get paid)
Fuckin with 56
didn't know
Just what he was there for, or where he ought to go
Once he reached for something golden, hanging from a tree
And his hand came down empty
face he was like
"go on then but pay me a lager"
It doesn’t take long to discover
Skepta smells like no other
When I asked him to piss in
His face he was
have bars
Keeps his money in lemon jars
He'll be the first one to go when they find life on mars
He acts hard, don't fuck with me bro
He just sends mates
wrote for me
I grip a stick I wrote a
Poem not a rap
I'll be slapping when
The money's bottlecaps
Fall out
With niggas that care about
All clout
In the year of the famine when starvation
And black death raged across the land
There were many driven by their hunger
To set sail for the Americas
Annachie Gordon I beg for my bread
And before I marry Sultan his gold to my head
With gold to my head and straight down to my knees
And I'll die if I
Annachie Gordon I beg for my bread
And before I marry Sultan his gold to my head
With gold to my head and straight down to my knees
And I'll die if I
hands up thats a Mass Appeal
In Gold ville is how I rock with the Elohim
Dont Mess With Me, Put the Blame on Him
Battle Axe of the Lord am a War Specie
T-Bo
From the Dirty South, gold's in his mouth, my peoples
All of my homies from the L.B.C.
All my white homies who smoke with me
Sell me bud
of the dirty chick with make-up
Bail out quick for the 7:30 wake-up
My only backup was an A-cup, as far as May
To when the leaves turn red and gold to Nimrod
Tri-jacking blackened for moi, handcuffs and special keys.
Triple lies and neckties divide. This will be his size.
Throw my case of plasterscene down. Maybe
thirty-eight in his waist
But when you live by the gun you die by the same fate
End up, dead before thirty-eight and umm
That's the life of us raised by
and then turned away to go
Said I'd send for her to meet me when I'd reached old Mexico
I had barely left the saddle and my foot just touched the ground
and then turned away to go
Said I'd send for her to meet me when I'd reached old Mexico
I had barely left the saddle and my foot just touched the ground
man your time is at hand
and when he could last no longer his days were fading fast
we were far to weak to carry him subsistency comes first
stay easy
the reflective
Panel and killing
The informant with his job complete
He put on his white mask and fled
The scene by rappelling down the building
Back to the Cicada
like him
Your bars are probably written
By Kano's right hand what? Calm down
I'm mellow, this ain't no hype, fam
What you jumping about for?
If you wanna
his
Baby is cute or whatever, but
For me, it’s bigger than who
I am and my presence
Living it’s about when I was
On Earth what did
I do to help?
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