Lyrics:
pull up to yo hood
Hit da line and get good
Get good get good
And you know I pull up to yo hood
Aye Ice cold like i'm A Phi A
We be stepping on yard
I'm working, shit! the work rates crazy
I'm either sat at the desk or hitting the line I can't talk to you baby
I know I been distant lately
My
Yeah
I pull his card,
Said he was ready for this (yeah)
These diamonds ain't flawed,
Like These is baguettes my bitch (yeah)
Hop out in the yard
How do you shoot the devil in the back? What if you miss
I'll make you fabulous, sign the dotted line then she added this your mine
I know what makes
On the main line, PC's federal and my jay cats are in the hole away from me
On the main line pC'S and federal and all my jay cats are in the hole away from me.
They warn write me off
But I cant really fall off (why that)
Cause you know Gods got me
Bros always belling my line more time he can't get through
Hey!
Money on my mind you know that I fuck with you
I'll be on my grind, what the fuck you tryna do?
Snitches on my line they just tryna twist the truth
Tomatoes on the vine, elderberry wine
Last week's clothes dryin' on the line
Momma in the kitchen, daddy down the hall
Bourbon on the table, Jesus
your couch
And it's knowing I'm not shackled
By forgotten words and bonds
And the ink stains that are dried up on some line
That keeps you in
break, I run with it
It was not a hobby but a childhood passion
That had started in the lobby and was quickly fashioned
Every line to line, bar for
Smif-N-Wessun
Puttin likkle yout's in a military state of mind
Dangerous like chronic and yard when combined
Cocoa Brovaz 'pon de borderline
Test de sound
your couch
And it's knowin' I'm not shackled
By forgotten words and bonds
And the ink stains that have dried upon some line
That keeps you in
is my paw-paw
He gets his orders from my maw-maw
She makes him walk the line
You can find me in my wigwam
I'll be beatin' on my tom-tom
Pull out
Shadows come creepin' down the alleys,
Lonesome lines the boulevard
Neon flickers to the rhythm of the night,
But this evenin', sleep is coming
couch
And it's knowing I'm not shackled
By forgotten words and bonds
And the ink stains that are
Dried upon some line
That keeps you in the backroads
By
between the lines, they all meat-eaters (they all)
And I ain't worried about no beef, we got street sweepers (I'm not)
Quarter million for my tape, so I
Keep your clever lines
Hold your easy rhymes
Silence everything
Silence always wins
It's a perfect alibi
There's no need to analyze
It will be
Walkin' the line like Cash, I'm on my mash
Two hundred yards behind in a hundred yard dash
Lord, it's so hard, living this life
A constant struggle
"Live from Beverly Hills this is Angela Giovanni
Reporting from WAFRO, 'Will Always Fucking Rock On' radio
We're a few yards from the Death Row
"Live from Beverly Hills this is Angela Giovanni
Reporting from WAFRO, 'Will Always Fucking Rock On' radio
We're a few yards from the Death Row
taste expensive
300 plants in a yard that’s rented
I got tv”s on timers blended
my bond tight with the plug cemented
I need to to get Rich
that’s
west on the central line
Now I'm BM cruising, white alpine
(Yesterday, yesterday) I was thinking "why's
This shit so hard?"
"Really, can we ever live
world, so I stay in mine
And niggas don't cross the line, niggas stay in line
Like welfare, I'm St. Elsewhere
Hotter than a devil, nigga, hell yeah
There ain't nothin' out here but dogs in the yard
And a couple John Deeres, some fallin' down barns
Yeah, it's pretty damn clear like lightning in
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