've been so logicated) Singing our songs of yesterday (Nothing's got all the point, the blame?) While so much still stands in our way (Yeahhhh!) Voices with nothing to say
(We've been so logicated) Singing our songs of yesterday (Nothing's got all the point, the blame) While so much still stands in our way (Yeah) Voices with nothing to say
Traduzione: Barra. Nothing To Say.
the limit and you know that you Could have what you want or be what you want But make sure you live to be everything you say (?) just doesn't take it
store slash radio shack With the sound of dreamers jammin' in the back Well we rocked all night and we rolled all day We never bought nothing but we
tablet Keep my habit up on average Cus living life can be lavish Reckless on the mic like Paul Abbott And the beats I produce like cabbage But I ain't nothing
is way no Start a rap career, that shit is way no Toy mic you play flow Don't ask 'em to say hoe, stay low Stay low, don't ask 'em to say hoe Toy mic
Tell 'em like they tell Bean's, I got four seeds to feed Till I fuck you and some change fall out of your ass (watch your bitches!) Biatch! Ain't nothing
a plane and write your name in the new york city sky (chorus) just like... tango needed cash axl needed slash rocky needed to fight hall needed oates columbus needed boats but we don't need to say
appointed me Malik, the Drunken Dragon, I'll burn your ass if you're lyrics are sagging Cuz your rhymes are shitty, y'all move quick and niggaz say did
[Chamillionaire:] They say it's strength in numbers But I feel stronger than a mother on my own two feet September 18th, Ultimate Victory Uh, I be looking
the Man on Fire Representing for Houston Texas, invading the air waves On the official Chamillionaire mix tape This a Fear Factor Music, slash Southern Smoke Slash Chamillitary, slash
why dope fiends, love my base I'm up in the place, Dina got a duck in the safe Glock 40 one in the head, tucked at my waist Say a nigga need space, so
like cock or gingivitis when every rhyme becomes the official new blueprint for wannabe writers Catch a smack to the face on principle Even when I say nothing
, you're fired cause you're not I write most poems still hitting fire that lights most home grills Getting higher then Mike Jones' phone bill Who? The drop out slash
You know, I'd rather chill at the crib Lay up inside with my remote, barbecue Herrs and my Xbox Live But the "rah rah" made me say this' gonna be big