on ask me to R Kelly ya and get pee?d on I said it aint me maam that 8 behind me still got the burner yes the enzo is stilll black like Sojourner truth
years of my life of smoking and drinking The world keeps spinning, so lately I've been thinking Verse One: Common Nearest to the go gothic, a cash flow prophet
trunk, four screens in the deck I ride (I ride) I ride (I ride) I ride (I ride) Let's ride (Let's ride) I ride (Propped up) I ride (Propped up) I ride
't rhyme with Oprah Winfr' troop Who cares what rhymes with it long As the funk pump through my Benz truck Now you know you don't own a Benz Yes, I do
fold fix bitches in gold is a no-no Livin' low like de la soul it's the 'O' And the folks don't understand, yes you can Rush, shake the van and catch
wanna see you sweat I wanna see you sweat Okay Houston We'll give you a countdown Four, three, two, one, fire I wanna see you The final chapter, prophetic
, got no brain Insane in da membrane Insane in the brain Like Louie Armstrong played the trumpet I'll hit that bong and break ya off somethin' soon I got ta get my props
Insane in da brain Insane in da brain Insane in da brain Like Louie Armstrong, played the trumpet I'll hit that bong and break ya off somethin' soon I got ta get my props
black 'Cause I'm the real one, yes, the phuncky feel one I'm the real one, yes, the phuncky feel one I'm the real one, yes, the phuncky feel one You
trunk fo' screens in the deck [x2] I ride, I ride, I ride, I ride, I ride, I ride, Lets ride I ride, propped up, I ride, propped up, I ride, say bro
, we're just babies, man We're just babies, we're just babies, man We're just babies, we're just babies, man Every man's a planet and the props are there
we go, portfolio dolio Dodio doe, sons of the flow Portfolio dolio Dodio doe, sons of the flow Some say we're the sons of the preacher Some says we're the sons of the prophet
' down in the worst way I got my son a gun for his birthday Now we've had enough, everybody wants to be tough But I give the props to brothers on my
in the worst way I got my son a gun for his birthday. Now we've had enough, everybody wants to be tough, But I give the props to brothers on my level
I don't fuck with the cock Nuts hang down my pant leg, balls tucked in my socks I ain't gotta act tough to get a couple of props Little nigga raised hisself
on the rocks 100,000 rocks for my ghetto blocks Killin' flo' level the spillin' won't stop Buildin' more treble 'til I fill in my slot I want my props
[Puffy] Yes indeed once again For those who don't know What the sounds of the youngest DJ in charge Ron G I wanna say whassup to Mary And this that