Fake Neptune Lyrics
| Song | Fake Neptune |
| Artist | Sean Price |
| Artist | Buckshot |
| Artist | Louieville |
| Artist | Steele |
| Album | Monkey Barz |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Blake, Jones, Powell, Price ... | |
| (Chorus 2x: Buckshot) | |
| Ah, you see too hard for me | |
| Ah, you see you hardly me | |
| Disrespect anyone, no pardon me | |
| Any time you set it off, you can start with me | |
| (Sean Price) | |
| Meanwhile, nigga, back at the ranch | |
| Smokin' a spliff with this bitch trynna faster her pants | |
| P, off with the blouse, and off with the kangol | |
| Victoria Secret, bitch, Caribbean mango | |
| Her favorite song on Nocturnal, was Brainz Blo | |
| Put on my pants, if she can let the brains blow | |
| Heh, I had to find that funny | |
| Lost my wallet, gotta find my money, bitch | |
| How you gonna shit on me? | |
| After I let you shit on me, freaky deaky | |
| Nowadays I had it up to here | |
| Don't make me fuck around and cut your hair, listen | |
| All things Sean Price, four wings, fried rice | |
| Nigga, duck sauce, who the fuck the boss? | |
| Yo, ask me no questions, I tell you no lie | |
| Unless the judge is wack and the jury is jive | |
| Uh, old school style, Furious Five | |
| Get my man Grandmaster Caz, to snuff ya ass | |
| On a, world tour, with Muhammed, my man | |
| In a piece of shit truck, smelling like vomit and ham | |
| (Steele) | |
| And when the coochie smell bad, but the shorty look good | |
| What the fuck a nigga suppose to say, tell me | |
| If I like to do a little rap, put money on stacks | |
| Tell me how a nigga suppose to get get paid | |
| Wait a minute, now you mean to tell me, I'm stuck in this shit | |
| Rappers either bending over or riding dicks | |
| Check 'em, down and dirty niggaz stuck in the ditch | |
| The realest in the myst, tuckin' a fifth, ohh | |
| (Louieville Sluggah) | |
| It's like a switch from Crys' to Molt Liquor and | |
| Colt 45, on the hittin' hand sittin' | |
| If you can't stand the heat, get out the kitchen | |
| It's either you with you, or you all around bitching | |
| Pop pop, what happened to that boy? | |
| He got popped, got rocked by a real mccoy | |
| I was fucking his broad, she was feeling joyced | |
| She said; let's go have one a girl or boy | |
| I said; not me to copy, have you talking crazy | |
| You cool and all but I pass, baby baby | |
| To all my Queensmen and Brookmen | |
| Crooked men, if you ever looked out, then good looking | |
| A nigga pray that we stay away from the bookers | |
| Cuz any kid get locked up, to another Brooklyn | |
| Avenues and streets, boulevards I creep | |
| Until every fucking dollar bill meet, yo | |
| (Chorus 2x) | |
| (Sean Price) | |
| Yo, alotta niggaz rhyme, some of y'all nice | |
| Some sound the same, but not Sean Price | |
| The O.D.B., and the B.C.C | |
| I'm David Ruffin, say when it's nothing, no | |
| Need for acceptance, no need for applause | |
| All you need is a gause, when you bleeding, ofcourse | |
| Of course, I ain't playin' no more | |
| Fuck holding back, fuck what I'm saving it for | |
| Get busy, bisexual burners, both ways with the biscuit | |
| Hit, niggaz and bitches, and occasionally infants | |
| Yo, save it man, tricks are for kids, bitch, David Blaine | |
| (Chorus 2x) |
| zuo qu : Blake, Jones, Powell, Price ... | |
| Chorus 2x: Buckshot | |
| Ah, you see too hard for me | |
| Ah, you see you hardly me | |
| Disrespect anyone, no pardon me | |
| Any time you set it off, you can start with me | |
| Sean Price | |
| Meanwhile, nigga, back at the ranch | |
| Smokin' a spliff with this bitch trynna faster her pants | |
| P, off with the blouse, and off with the kangol | |
| Victoria Secret, bitch, Caribbean mango | |
| Her favorite song on Nocturnal, was Brainz Blo | |
| Put on my pants, if she can let the brains blow | |
| Heh, I had to find that funny | |
| Lost my wallet, gotta find my money, bitch | |
| How you gonna shit on me? | |
| After I let you shit on me, freaky deaky | |
| Nowadays I had it up to here | |
| Don' t make me fuck around and cut your hair, listen | |
| All things Sean Price, four wings, fried rice | |
| Nigga, duck sauce, who the fuck the boss? | |
| Yo, ask me no questions, I tell you no lie | |
| Unless the judge is wack and the jury is jive | |
| Uh, old school style, Furious Five | |
| Get my man Grandmaster Caz, to snuff ya ass | |
| On a, world tour, with Muhammed, my man | |
| In a piece of shit truck, smelling like vomit and ham | |
| Steele | |
| And when the coochie smell bad, but the shorty look good | |
| What the fuck a nigga suppose to say, tell me | |
| If I like to do a little rap, put money on stacks | |
| Tell me how a nigga suppose to get get paid | |
| Wait a minute, now you mean to tell me, I' m stuck in this shit | |
| Rappers either bending over or riding dicks | |
| Check ' em, down and dirty niggaz stuck in the ditch | |
| The realest in the myst, tuckin' a fifth, ohh | |
| Louieville Sluggah | |
| It' s like a switch from Crys' to Molt Liquor and | |
| Colt 45, on the hittin' hand sittin' | |
| If you can' t stand the heat, get out the kitchen | |
| It' s either you with you, or you all around bitching | |
| Pop pop, what happened to that boy? | |
| He got popped, got rocked by a real mccoy | |
| I was fucking his broad, she was feeling joyced | |
| She said let' s go have one a girl or boy | |
| I said not me to copy, have you talking crazy | |
| You cool and all but I pass, baby baby | |
| To all my Queensmen and Brookmen | |
| Crooked men, if you ever looked out, then good looking | |
| A nigga pray that we stay away from the bookers | |
| Cuz any kid get locked up, to another Brooklyn | |
| Avenues and streets, boulevards I creep | |
| Until every fucking dollar bill meet, yo | |
| Chorus 2x | |
| Sean Price | |
| Yo, alotta niggaz rhyme, some of y' all nice | |
| Some sound the same, but not Sean Price | |
| The O. D. B., and the B. C. C | |
| I' m David Ruffin, say when it' s nothing, no | |
| Need for acceptance, no need for applause | |
| All you need is a gause, when you bleeding, ofcourse | |
| Of course, I ain' t playin' no more | |
| Fuck holding back, fuck what I' m saving it for | |
| Get busy, bisexual burners, both ways with the biscuit | |
| Hit, niggaz and bitches, and occasionally infants | |
| Yo, save it man, tricks are for kids, bitch, David Blaine | |
| Chorus 2x |
| zuò qǔ : Blake, Jones, Powell, Price ... | |
| Chorus 2x: Buckshot | |
| Ah, you see too hard for me | |
| Ah, you see you hardly me | |
| Disrespect anyone, no pardon me | |
| Any time you set it off, you can start with me | |
| Sean Price | |
| Meanwhile, nigga, back at the ranch | |
| Smokin' a spliff with this bitch trynna faster her pants | |
| P, off with the blouse, and off with the kangol | |
| Victoria Secret, bitch, Caribbean mango | |
| Her favorite song on Nocturnal, was Brainz Blo | |
| Put on my pants, if she can let the brains blow | |
| Heh, I had to find that funny | |
| Lost my wallet, gotta find my money, bitch | |
| How you gonna shit on me? | |
| After I let you shit on me, freaky deaky | |
| Nowadays I had it up to here | |
| Don' t make me fuck around and cut your hair, listen | |
| All things Sean Price, four wings, fried rice | |
| Nigga, duck sauce, who the fuck the boss? | |
| Yo, ask me no questions, I tell you no lie | |
| Unless the judge is wack and the jury is jive | |
| Uh, old school style, Furious Five | |
| Get my man Grandmaster Caz, to snuff ya ass | |
| On a, world tour, with Muhammed, my man | |
| In a piece of shit truck, smelling like vomit and ham | |
| Steele | |
| And when the coochie smell bad, but the shorty look good | |
| What the fuck a nigga suppose to say, tell me | |
| If I like to do a little rap, put money on stacks | |
| Tell me how a nigga suppose to get get paid | |
| Wait a minute, now you mean to tell me, I' m stuck in this shit | |
| Rappers either bending over or riding dicks | |
| Check ' em, down and dirty niggaz stuck in the ditch | |
| The realest in the myst, tuckin' a fifth, ohh | |
| Louieville Sluggah | |
| It' s like a switch from Crys' to Molt Liquor and | |
| Colt 45, on the hittin' hand sittin' | |
| If you can' t stand the heat, get out the kitchen | |
| It' s either you with you, or you all around bitching | |
| Pop pop, what happened to that boy? | |
| He got popped, got rocked by a real mccoy | |
| I was fucking his broad, she was feeling joyced | |
| She said let' s go have one a girl or boy | |
| I said not me to copy, have you talking crazy | |
| You cool and all but I pass, baby baby | |
| To all my Queensmen and Brookmen | |
| Crooked men, if you ever looked out, then good looking | |
| A nigga pray that we stay away from the bookers | |
| Cuz any kid get locked up, to another Brooklyn | |
| Avenues and streets, boulevards I creep | |
| Until every fucking dollar bill meet, yo | |
| Chorus 2x | |
| Sean Price | |
| Yo, alotta niggaz rhyme, some of y' all nice | |
| Some sound the same, but not Sean Price | |
| The O. D. B., and the B. C. C | |
| I' m David Ruffin, say when it' s nothing, no | |
| Need for acceptance, no need for applause | |
| All you need is a gause, when you bleeding, ofcourse | |
| Of course, I ain' t playin' no more | |
| Fuck holding back, fuck what I' m saving it for | |
| Get busy, bisexual burners, both ways with the biscuit | |
| Hit, niggaz and bitches, and occasionally infants | |
| Yo, save it man, tricks are for kids, bitch, David Blaine | |
| Chorus 2x |
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