How could you do it I couldn't say Years built on sand June until May Second to second Lied even while you held my hand It's death for the living Yes
How could you do it? I couldn't say Years built on sand June until May Second to second Lied even while you held my hand It's death for the living Yes
Traduzione: Stelle. La grande lotta.
my cell phone From Bo-Bo's to Air Macs, low cars to horse backs Hoopties to Cadillacs, water guns to chrome gats Levis to Guess jeans, black and white to big
get it on hey Let's get it on, I'm a hustler I ain't coming home [Paul Wall:] I got big money big cars, big chains and big glocks Playboy bunnies in
is gonna be presidin' Lookey here, boy, from now on you're gon' be a nigger lover, boy Smile, you're gonna be a God-damned rap star You're gon' get off
My mom plays trix and I beat on the floor like bush wick My fists bloody and blistered A pair Like I'm balistic I just stare at the red and smile while
go down without a fight) i'd like to introduce you to a special substance, good for you no physical dependency for a star in its ascendancy the world is a great big
want it. What have you got to lose Raise your glass you made it Everyone's waiting for the next big thing, The next big thing So now you won the fight
you do with it I'm here to represent the real I still stayed G'ed up unless must I will I stayed up all night, I argue and fight by myself; this can't
It's in the air of New York So everybody'll pick em up, kissin em up Treatin' them like they own, in dis hood we call home Fist fight till we grown and
up a rock You ain't a chump, you want your Grandma to think you a punk Look at my first Grand baby, he is a big rap star Bought me a house, diamonds,
Bumpin cloudy eyed Givin mean mugs to my foes We can all square off Nigga we'll fight all of yah hoes We don't neva wanna talk Now the parties hella packed Hoes straight star
me I was takin care of you, I thought that you was happy Out of town, fuckin 'round, all-star, Superbowl A-T-L, Magic City, tippin big dick hoes Panties
went out tonight And I'm caught like a doe in your headlights Oh yeah, alright I'm yours to knock around I'm a little too star-struck to wanna fight
hard, never a customer Skills stay hardy at the party for sustenance Man I'm on the grind, I'm a non-stop hustler I'll fight the fight that nobody will fight
and shit, tryin' to get my bitch to fuckin' snitch and shit. Officer Roscoe P. Coltrane running warrant checks on the Afroman But I can't be no hip hop star