Lyrics:
, on red, on red
My son, my apostle
Sent down as a witness to my prophecy
Your testimony is written in blood on the walls
The only way out of this place is
started listening to bluegrass music in Bryan Duckworth's rust red 1970 Ford Maverick.
Had an eight track tape deck and an eight track tape of Bill
I forgot the taste of needles
Sting in my veins
I crafted castles in the sand
How could I never seen the bigger picture
just in my face
I had written
he'd get trapped by the tension
Holes in the wall, mentally caged he was fenced in
Infinite peace and wisdom, I'll forever wish him but now
It's real
vine
Me and Puntin opened a grape stand
Got hate from our own kind
Open the Bible If you're trying to catch the code
The Words of Christ Written in Red
taking everything
Moncler for the winter, got my bands up now they bigger
Shells flying, hit yo liver, jacket red like he in Thriller
Hit his leg if he
The past has been written, rolled and sealed in a scroll
(In the ways of the scale)
The eyes of the hawk ranges the sky unblinking
OPENED
(In the ways
'knowledge. im at it for my kin, thats
Muhfuckin word to the microphone tatted on my skin, nigga.
Chorus (written & performed by Boomie Bugatti)
Im lookin in
a lot of people don't get
But hipsters and skateboarders digging it
It's funny how I'm making money
From this written shit
In elementary they tried
thought I'm in the clouds
Turns out I was chillin' on the Michelin Man
You know kickin' the can
I'm tryna figure the plan
I want it written in land
The old
glass smashed upon pavements cancer sticks ever so fragrant brick n morter aloft pylon red dot for the slaughter they wheeled by a cadaver in a iron lung
the Fountains of youth
Encased by mountains of truth so drink slow
Long road to freedom we on but we on
Ain't no wade in the water
All red Js for the slaughter
and 2 in the quarter just like that!
And i tbust my gat just like that
Fee i'm a leave it just like that okay, okay
I say ay, i say s-Q-A-D S-H-I T
FEE ya
riding up uptown (Woo)
One hand on the wheel, one hand on my dick
At the green light I'm speeding
Fourth wheel on, I'm weaving
I got red eyes and swag
on my P's and Q's bills on me
But when Que say P
Cop a red dot, six shots from the neck up like Kill Zone 3
Flexing off the pounds
Niggas don't want
on my P's and Q's bills on me
But when Que say P
Cop a red dot, six shots from the neck up like Kill Zone 3
Flexing off the pounds
Niggas don't want
on Blueprint
What we did on P's and
Q's remix was the Blueprint
2000 & Life, stupid no Calpol, too sick
In a city where the
Skinny niggers bury niggers
Virgins,
I'm big red
Impala gang, no Lexus
Should've been a hip-hop freshman
Lot of my shit get chopped and screwed
They swear to God I'm from Texas
Your
Damon did
Doc, walk thin red lines to shell shock
Hair lock with fucking broads in nail shops
Hydro? got more bags than bellhops
Two thousand Benz
for that one Atlantic Ocean. Now listen, drop them hogs off in Omaha and get over here in a short, 'cause it definitely looks like we got us a problem.
hoes in the air, just hanging up there
Sitting fat' than a bitch and I don't care
I'm just puffing on red here
Rolled in a fronto leaf I got from
a lifeline
Um mmmm
Written by Dexter Q buchanan
Saturday in the 731 by Trezdamirra
Produced by Myke Milyan
Written by Gunn Derris Montrez
Chorus: Hollering at this girl that got away/ chilling in
Immortalized by its vice and deified for its carnage
There's money in the air there
All you have to do is reach up and grab it
In basements, garages,
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