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(* People talking *) |
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I write my lyrics on parking tickets and summons to the court |
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I scribbled this on an application for county support |
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I practice this like a sport |
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Met Donald Trump and he froze up |
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Standing on his Bentley yelling "Pimps down, hoes up" |
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Some tryin' to front off |
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Break her ass a clump off |
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We gon' stop the world and make y'all mother****ers jump off |
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This is my resume slash resignation |
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A ransom note with proposed legislation |
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A fevered ultimatum you should take it verbatim |
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Cause I got two bangin' pieces and you don't wanna date em' |
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Flyin' kites for my folks at home |
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Who takin' tokes alone |
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We payin' rent on shit they ain't even sposed to own |
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Narratin' through my verse, agitatin' when ya curse |
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It's a million mother****ers just waitin' on the first |
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Anticipatin' on the worst, wanna weightin' up ya purse |
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Shut the jobby job down at noon and don't disperse |
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They wouldn't pay ya ass as far as they can throw you |
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They think you punkin' but |
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they don't know you |
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Dissin' turf operata, play with twelve shot berettas |
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Buy the Burger King workers who be slappin' on ya lettuce |
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Wrote that in the back of those apartments |
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A coupon from agricultural departments |
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When we put down the X-O, we can let the threats go |
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And start shit, it's the ghetto manifesto |
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That's what I'm talking about |
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Make me scream and shout |
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East, West, North, and South |
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Gonna turn this party out, hey |
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That's what I'm talking about |
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Make me scream and shout |
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East, West, North, and South |
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Gonna turn this party out, hey |
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(* People talking *) |
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Call me bird, 'cause of my legs but my ass don't sing |
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Got a house arrest anklet but it don't bling bling |
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Got a homie with a cell but that shit don't ring |
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But at lights out bars clang and souls get stang |
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Now it's the hustlin' sound, trick where they muscle around blacks |
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Make ya thoughts heavy, drop a joint and make the ground crack |
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Even renowned hack-historians have found that |
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The people only bound back when they pound back |
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So I take out a spray can and paste the pavement |
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Defacin' gravements of a sufferin' nascent |
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The files are flagrant and that's the fragrance |
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I overheard them askin' vagrance for patients |
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So check the liner notes, I steal my finer quotes |
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From people trying to throw the Bougies in designer bolts |
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And party liner jokes and all kinds of folks |
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Who all kind of broke |
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But bought twenties cause they feel like a lot of smoke |
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The trees we got lifted by made our feet dangle |
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So when I say "Burn One" I mean the Star-Spangled |
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Let's all get high from the income angle |
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Bump this at the party even if it ain't the single |
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Here's a slum serenade, on razor blades and grenades |
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By nannies and maids who be polishin' the suede |
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You could let the sess blow but let's make the sets grow |
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Into brigades with the ghetto manifesto |
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That's what I'm talking about |
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Make me scream and shout |
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East, West, North, and South |
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Gonna turn this party out, hey |
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That's what I'm talking about |
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Make me scream and shout |
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East, West, North, and South |
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Gonna turn this party out, hey |
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(* People talking *) |
