room shoppin', coppin' rims, I'm top-ten Niggaz gon' respect my pen Survived in two droughts, two seperate games So I shout, "Who'll slouch, get outta my lane
As I went a walking One morning in spring I met with some travelers On an old country lane One was an old man The second a maid The third was a young
(Peanut do bop do bop) (Peanut do bop do bop) In Cuba each merry maid wakes up with this seranade Peanuts (they're nice and hot) Peanuts (he sells a
Fancy brings a thought to me of a flower so bright and fair, Grance and beauty, both combine to make that far more rare Like a maiden that I know who
luxury lazy So much gold that jewelry don't phase me Coroless phone,eight or nine homes Girlies on my Jammie with Ice-T Jones Bank account boomin',fast lane
business Let these ni**** know how it's gon be in Writer's Block Part 3 [Mike Tyson speeches while J.R. Writer speaks] [J.R. Writer] Get in tune with the maiden
a No Limit Soooooooldier (uhnnnnnh) But I got the Old Maid crossover ('bout it, 'bout it) Don't get it wrong I love P but I'ma take him to the lane We
Not from the northern road, Not from the southern way, First his wild music flowed Into the village that day. He suddenly was in the lane, The people
you're the game If I'm a window, you're just the rain Everybody get off the floor tonight All right? Screw the whistle, come be the train Don't fuck the princess, do the maid
on me because I'm it, love the fact that I stay rich Love the fact I come through candy-painted drop the bumper kit She already know I'm paid, house blades, Escalade, with a maid
's all a balla knows Down on that South coast [Slim Thug] I'm piece and chain, I'm pinky ring I'm gripping grain, I swang and bang From lane to lane,
you could ever see rappin split the cash 'n, move to Venezuela, adaptin' P-11's, A-C-P Shells for blastin caught him wit his spanish maid, he had a liter
Seeing through the eyes of the dead. While my baby gives me... Ya know... Tic Tac Toe Tags High heels and latex body bags No more french maid or naughty
We met these sisters Barlow's their last name Ordinary girls they don't live in the fast lane They don't rate with the guys that score Cause they don
Folding hills and a silver lane, A weeping maid, an evening in the rain, Roses ramble and the trees hang low, We sit and drink to all good friends we
'm luxury lazy So much gold that jewelry don't phase me Cordless phone, eight or nine homes Girlies on my Jammie with Ice-T Jones Bank account boomin', fast lane
she won't forget the name Lloyd Banks you know the yellow nigga with the change A frozen hand on the metal when I whip the Range I'm sitting sideways, dazed and switching lanes
