by on you I get high on you (I get high) I, I get by on you (Get high) I get by on you (Get high) I get high on you (Get high) Sunshine slipping through
Traduzione: Colpo. High On You.
and go (Yeah) And they never come to see you when ya money gets low (Low) Then let the record show that you could never love a ho In debt to treat the
in fruity bits I ain't pretty so my fetish ain't nighthood Cause no one wears sequins in my neighborhood [MC Serch] Cause my feet are firmly planted on the concrete High
street. Now niggaz know you ain't shit, damn! I see yo' monkey ass in da paper, cos you ain't returnin them jewels you borrowed, you better give 'em back, you
flick, come outside let the 9 spit Puff Nestle, do hits on jet ski Snipe niggaz like Wesley, "Black Mask" like Jet Li Wear a Teflon, my cash niggaz is dead on
So on top look like a brother with DS Down Syndrome But if you want to find me come around wisdom How do I say this calmly You a clown kid son And you
I want a jet black discovery recovery, big time See when you, when you start fuking wit my shit like that You're taking on a natural high see what I'm
most is post graduate What I feel is hard to articulate If you want me to matriculate You'd better teach me tonight What do you get for lessons Teach me... come on
come on, come on Yeah, yeah, come on, come on, come on Check it out, check it out Yo, yo, yo Who the fuck is that nigga rhymin' on the mic? WHO IS THIS
the challenge that will drop you off the saddle now, hold on tight here we go - can you handle CHORUS I know there's something going on heeyey heeyey
hoe you know you want the daddy, Imma get some brain while we rollin in the Caddy. Ice on my chain bitch you bet I'm a starr, rubbin on my dick make a
my bitches Give you something that'll split you up And leave you with stitches Looking pathetic, I hit y'all niggas with the kinetic Make you respect it, and beat you
let the mac speak boy Track meet boy, hundred meter dash, straight to the trash You corny rhymin on them whack beats boy (C'MON) And you know we rock on and on
s that there look wit you and be out for your revenue then even at you and she'll be blessin you Caressin you startin that mess wit you But you always
t worth sixpence And if you can hear, smell, see, touch, and taste then you don't need six senses to feel me punch you in the face From Brixton, to Clapham
we live by gun rule, Like Iraq, C-4 in back packs, You can pull straps but you cant match that, Thought you was hard as shit bitch, Why you let em snitch