Emotionless Lyrics
| Song | Emotionless |
| Artist | Jim Jones |
| Album | Hustler's P.O.M.E. (Product of My Environment) |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Artist：Jim Jones/Jueliz Santana | |
| Lemme two-twelve wit' you for second | |
| True story | |
| [Jim Jones] | |
| Cold sweats (sweaty sheets) | |
| From bad dreams (nightmares) | |
| I hope the Feds don't grab the team | |
| Cause we been labeled as the trouble makers (DipSet) | |
| We sell whole pies so you ain't got to cut the cake up | |
| Tell no lies, so the Lord come and take us (solemnly swear) | |
| Praise to Allah, hope the Lord He forsake us (pray for me) | |
| And outlaws is what it made us | |
| We live the fast life, and so we ball out major (ballin') | |
| Until I see a ribbon in the sky | |
| Cop plush cars put ribbons on the ride (full speed ahead) | |
| Due to my political ties | |
| I can't roll around without the drip in the ride (East Side) | |
| And if my gun boys ain't hear of ya | |
| You're lightweight I get the young boys to murder ya | |
| You're looking at a cracker's worst nightmare | |
| Young, black, rich and with a fresh pair Nikes | |
| Boy you talk about my life here | |
| Fuck wit OGs that put dice in the mirror | |
| And they tell me that life's but a gamble | |
| The media will turn your whole life into a scandal | |
| [Chorus] | |
| Put my emotions aside (why?) | |
| Cause they can never take my alive (no) | |
| I'm a ride (I'm a ride) | |
| And don't cry (don't cry) | |
| Cause Momma raised hell of a thug (I'm a thug) | |
| And if I'm standing in front of the judge | |
| Guess what? | |
| He can never take me alive (no) | |
| I'm a ride (I'm a ride) | |
| And don't cry (don't cry) | |
| [Juelz Santana] | |
| Poured off Bentley | |
| Looking like steroids | |
| Jetson car, I'm looking like Elroy | |
| Maserati lookin' like a shark on land | |
| Neiman Marcus edition, contraband | |
| Neiman Marcus I'm in it, shopping and | |
| Five thousand spent on pants, man (man) | |
| Bitches love it, niggas want it | |
| So bad they wanna take it, but I kill 'em for it (huh) | |
| Believe me, I'm like a bear that ain't get his porridge | |
| You better stay out the forest, warning | |
| It's Santana he fucks, | |
| Money man, make you do a handstand for the bucks | |
| I see you clear, my antennas is up | |
| And that hand-scale is still in my pocket | |
| What you want? (What you want?) | |
| Dough boys in the trap, where ya at? (where ya at?) | |
| Coke dealer's in the hood, what's good? (what's good?) | |
| Boy getting them bricks with the stamp on the shit | |
| Well come meet the man that's stamping them bricks (us) | |
| Fly wit' the Byrds, or lie wit' the dirt | |
| Your corpse, flies will emerge | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [Jim Jones] | |
| They say your enemies is close, your friends even closer | |
| Listening to 'Pac up ten in the roaster (speeding) | |
| Now, do you wanna ride or die? | |
| Blowin' smoke in the air, getting high as the sky (that purple) | |
| I'm drunk staring B | |
| I need therapy | |
| The paranoia got me thinking conspiracy | |
| Paper on the brain, the brain on the yayo | |
| I make it off the plane I'm a land to a payroll | |
| My right hand to God, put my right hand in the jar (that mixture) | |
| And it all come back, like grams of the hard | |
| You heard of us, the murders, the most shady (DipSet) | |
| Been on the low lately, the Feds hate me (Jones) | |
| They try to put cuffs on me and my assailants | |
| When I push fees through the streets, they be tailing (speeding) | |
| They try to catch me out of bounds | |
| They know I got pistols if you catch me outta town (loaded) | |
| A thug changes, and love changes | |
| And since 9/11, the price of the drugs changes | |
| [Chorus] |
| Artist: Jim Jones Jueliz Santana | |
| Lemme twotwelve wit' you for second | |
| True story | |
| Jim Jones | |
| Cold sweats sweaty sheets | |
| From bad dreams nightmares | |
| I hope the Feds don' t grab the team | |
| Cause we been labeled as the trouble makers DipSet | |
| We sell whole pies so you ain' t got to cut the cake up | |
| Tell no lies, so the Lord come and take us solemnly swear | |
| Praise to Allah, hope the Lord He forsake us pray for me | |
| And outlaws is what it made us | |
| We live the fast life, and so we ball out major ballin' | |
| Until I see a ribbon in the sky | |
| Cop plush cars put ribbons on the ride full speed ahead | |
| Due to my political ties | |
| I can' t roll around without the drip in the ride East Side | |
| And if my gun boys ain' t hear of ya | |
| You' re lightweight I get the young boys to murder ya | |
| You' re looking at a cracker' s worst nightmare | |
| Young, black, rich and with a fresh pair Nikes | |
| Boy you talk about my life here | |
| Fuck wit OGs that put dice in the mirror | |
| And they tell me that life' s but a gamble | |
| The media will turn your whole life into a scandal | |
| Chorus | |
| Put my emotions aside why? | |
| Cause they can never take my alive no | |
| I' m a ride I' m a ride | |
| And don' t cry don' t cry | |
| Cause Momma raised hell of a thug I' m a thug | |
| And if I' m standing in front of the judge | |
| Guess what? | |
| He can never take me alive no | |
| I' m a ride I' m a ride | |
| And don' t cry don' t cry | |
| Juelz Santana | |
| Poured off Bentley | |
| Looking like steroids | |
| Jetson car, I' m looking like Elroy | |
| Maserati lookin' like a shark on land | |
| Neiman Marcus edition, contraband | |
| Neiman Marcus I' m in it, shopping and | |
| Five thousand spent on pants, man man | |
| Bitches love it, niggas want it | |
| So bad they wanna take it, but I kill ' em for it huh | |
| Believe me, I' m like a bear that ain' t get his porridge | |
| You better stay out the forest, warning | |
| It' s Santana he fucks, | |
| Money man, make you do a handstand for the bucks | |
| I see you clear, my antennas is up | |
| And that handscale is still in my pocket | |
| What you want? What you want? | |
| Dough boys in the trap, where ya at? where ya at? | |
| Coke dealer' s in the hood, what' s good? what' s good? | |
| Boy getting them bricks with the stamp on the shit | |
| Well come meet the man that' s stamping them bricks us | |
| Fly wit' the Byrds, or lie wit' the dirt | |
| Your corpse, flies will emerge | |
| Chorus | |
| Jim Jones | |
| They say your enemies is close, your friends even closer | |
| Listening to ' Pac up ten in the roaster speeding | |
| Now, do you wanna ride or die? | |
| Blowin' smoke in the air, getting high as the sky that purple | |
| I' m drunk staring B | |
| I need therapy | |
| The paranoia got me thinking conspiracy | |
| Paper on the brain, the brain on the yayo | |
| I make it off the plane I' m a land to a payroll | |
| My right hand to God, put my right hand in the jar that mixture | |
| And it all come back, like grams of the hard | |
| You heard of us, the murders, the most shady DipSet | |
| Been on the low lately, the Feds hate me Jones | |
| They try to put cuffs on me and my assailants | |
| When I push fees through the streets, they be tailing speeding | |
| They try to catch me out of bounds | |
| They know I got pistols if you catch me outta town loaded | |
| A thug changes, and love changes | |
| And since 9 11, the price of the drugs changes | |
| Chorus |
| Artist: Jim Jones Jueliz Santana | |
| Lemme twotwelve wit' you for second | |
| True story | |
| Jim Jones | |
| Cold sweats sweaty sheets | |
| From bad dreams nightmares | |
| I hope the Feds don' t grab the team | |
| Cause we been labeled as the trouble makers DipSet | |
| We sell whole pies so you ain' t got to cut the cake up | |
| Tell no lies, so the Lord come and take us solemnly swear | |
| Praise to Allah, hope the Lord He forsake us pray for me | |
| And outlaws is what it made us | |
| We live the fast life, and so we ball out major ballin' | |
| Until I see a ribbon in the sky | |
| Cop plush cars put ribbons on the ride full speed ahead | |
| Due to my political ties | |
| I can' t roll around without the drip in the ride East Side | |
| And if my gun boys ain' t hear of ya | |
| You' re lightweight I get the young boys to murder ya | |
| You' re looking at a cracker' s worst nightmare | |
| Young, black, rich and with a fresh pair Nikes | |
| Boy you talk about my life here | |
| Fuck wit OGs that put dice in the mirror | |
| And they tell me that life' s but a gamble | |
| The media will turn your whole life into a scandal | |
| Chorus | |
| Put my emotions aside why? | |
| Cause they can never take my alive no | |
| I' m a ride I' m a ride | |
| And don' t cry don' t cry | |
| Cause Momma raised hell of a thug I' m a thug | |
| And if I' m standing in front of the judge | |
| Guess what? | |
| He can never take me alive no | |
| I' m a ride I' m a ride | |
| And don' t cry don' t cry | |
| Juelz Santana | |
| Poured off Bentley | |
| Looking like steroids | |
| Jetson car, I' m looking like Elroy | |
| Maserati lookin' like a shark on land | |
| Neiman Marcus edition, contraband | |
| Neiman Marcus I' m in it, shopping and | |
| Five thousand spent on pants, man man | |
| Bitches love it, niggas want it | |
| So bad they wanna take it, but I kill ' em for it huh | |
| Believe me, I' m like a bear that ain' t get his porridge | |
| You better stay out the forest, warning | |
| It' s Santana he fucks, | |
| Money man, make you do a handstand for the bucks | |
| I see you clear, my antennas is up | |
| And that handscale is still in my pocket | |
| What you want? What you want? | |
| Dough boys in the trap, where ya at? where ya at? | |
| Coke dealer' s in the hood, what' s good? what' s good? | |
| Boy getting them bricks with the stamp on the shit | |
| Well come meet the man that' s stamping them bricks us | |
| Fly wit' the Byrds, or lie wit' the dirt | |
| Your corpse, flies will emerge | |
| Chorus | |
| Jim Jones | |
| They say your enemies is close, your friends even closer | |
| Listening to ' Pac up ten in the roaster speeding | |
| Now, do you wanna ride or die? | |
| Blowin' smoke in the air, getting high as the sky that purple | |
| I' m drunk staring B | |
| I need therapy | |
| The paranoia got me thinking conspiracy | |
| Paper on the brain, the brain on the yayo | |
| I make it off the plane I' m a land to a payroll | |
| My right hand to God, put my right hand in the jar that mixture | |
| And it all come back, like grams of the hard | |
| You heard of us, the murders, the most shady DipSet | |
| Been on the low lately, the Feds hate me Jones | |
| They try to put cuffs on me and my assailants | |
| When I push fees through the streets, they be tailing speeding | |
| They try to catch me out of bounds | |
| They know I got pistols if you catch me outta town loaded | |
| A thug changes, and love changes | |
| And since 9 11, the price of the drugs changes | |
| Chorus |
Similar Songs
YouTube Results (More on YouTube)