Paroles: Tis The Season

This is the fucking resurrection
Get the fuck up niggas
The restoration of that real shit
HS 87

[Verse 1: Pricetag]
I be posing for photos, eating at Sotto Sotto
Maxing .44s, bought that straps from the cholos
Packed in low lows, smell like Swisha packs and dodo
For sure sure, this that Austin Powers mojo flow
[?] never disrespect the bro code
You mofos couldn't get over my bars with a pole vault
I'll Titanic any rapper trying to show boat
Notorious, Big L, if I Pac this that ghost flow
We pass out licks, will pass my bitch before I will pass the dutch
Disrespect you see tecs, UPS might package you
Love a brown skin, thick, phat ass that bounce back at you
You niggas biting Count Dracula
We getting money we laugh at you
Now hold it
This the part where I finally woken
Drinking potion til I'm choking, Clarence Carter I be stroking
This that bitch I made in motion, your girl wanna fuck no joking
She told me she's home alone and tonight I'm Macaulay Culkin

We out here balling for no reason
So much money, white folks is calling us heathens
We giving meat to these women claiming they vegan
(We giving meat to these women claiming they vegan.)

Tis the season to be balling for no reason
Fuck it I’m not responsible
Tis the season to be balling for no reason
Fuck you I’m not responsible
Tis the season to be balling for no reason
Fuck you I’m not responsible

[Verse 2: Joey Bada$$]
You hear that new strain gun powder
Shoot it up your veins and puff power
Fiends on that chemical X for enough hours
When that adrenalin Russian roulette surrounds you
Cock it, cock it, when you had enough
And once you take it out the socket
Energy surge when you touch it, bring it, babe watch it
Turn up, little something, keep that boom box thumping
That bass, that loud, her system be jumping
I just hope the speaker ain't bomb bumping
She take my jewels and she blow like she drive something
It's a must that she know that I ain't nutting
I ain't nothing
Stereotype humping the wall
Acne on her face be bumping and all
I be that loco in my 47 cholos
Please don't take no photos if it ain't of nosotros
Open up those Ojos, stop choking up that pork
Get your hustle on the floor
Hit the door
I got that good shit for the low I let them know
So line them up, line them up, we 'bout to blow


[Verse 3: Oktane]
Give me the snare and that kick
I need it the snare and that kick
I came to talk on my shit
You hating, hop off my dick
I'm MVP of this game
Same nigga, ain't shit changed
So if you wasn't here when I was walking
Then bitch don't get on that plane
Here we go
You niggas can't be serious, come on fam
I got a list of niggas I'm ready to stunt on fam
Like I'm the little nigga that you used to front on man
You still work at the same spot from when I left on, damn
Okay, you can talk on your shit, I'mma just make more hits
My team is winning by so much we'll make yours quit
Like I wear a size 5 nigga, I will never forfeit
Like size 5, 4, fit...
Ah, nigga fuck that shit
I step in fresher than two showers
You got dressed for like two hours
Your bitch like my girl
She came with me, you too sour
My niggas all real niggas
Your niggas are true cowards
I'm the king of the hill I don't need Hank, Bobby, or Boomhauer
To tell me that, don't want your shit, don't sell me that
Cops on us, we selling crack
Every bar on every track, no holding back
Hit told me we got to bring the West back so I helped him
So ladies and gentlemen, California's finally back
You're welcome, Oktane

  Poster par  |  il y a 6 ans  |  Artiste : Audio Push