With kicks until the sole/Soul wear out, never that!
We weather that, you light in the ass and feather that
Heavy like black leather coats, you pleather that
Last dick on the line, we way ahead of that
Squeezin like Freddie Foxx, and his two glocks
Rocks don't impress niggaz who speak to God
We get jams to make a tuna melt
Held down by the BEP, we strictly, new getty
Two-fifty up in front of the mic, so what it look like?
[Chorus to fade]
Back, back, back, back, and forth
From Ca-lI to New York
0 comments:
Post a Comment