 |
|
|
|
|
Reklamy3
Nie ma takiego utworu
|
|
WASZE KOMENTARZE (0)
|
|
feat. Apple, Taco
First Verse (Tim Smooth):
I was brought up around repeat felons
Niggas who keep sellin' they dope
In your hood, no matter what the priest tell 'em
Reached eleven and then turned buck
Go to school and don't learn FUCK!
They only in there to earn bucks
And me, I'm that homie though, Mr. Romeo
Slick talkin' dicksman I'm hawkin' straight through a pony hoe
Over the years we become one
Cuz where I come from
Roll with the rollers or you get done young
One of our goals is never get caught short
All of us gettin' swole with hustles of some sort
My hustle is hoes, but my niggas are servin' fiends
Some of them murdering
None of them Burger Kings
Seems the dream of clean green done got ghost
I'm gonna rock a crowd while my niggas rock dope
And I hope, I never get smoked cuz of somebody in my crew
But if I do, I do
Chorus (Apple & Taco):
I...
Miss my niggas, them my niggas
I don't know why, but it be's that way
(2x)
Second Verse (Tim Smooth):
Lately I be so loaded, I don't go around my Mama
Mind my brother with brains who can't stay away from drama
Time and time again I go to God askin' him to watch me
Stop me from bein' so cold or take my soul if somebody pop me
I'm not lookin' for trouble, I'm lookin' for love
Only find it in spots where they be, cookin' the drugs
And puttin' the bud in the air like chain smokers
Cuz it maintain focus enough to bust range rovers
Came close to death more times than Bugs Bunny
Barely spun, but, done slung a ton of drug money
I was bummy, now I'm in the crib of lavishness
My FIST full of green, my jeans is full of parenting
Chorus
[One minute, thirty seconds of talking from a live phone call]
Chorus (.5x)
|
ďťż |
|
 |
electronica
