in the streets say its time to pay me Aint never been a friend of the industry I aint never been a friend of the gimmicky I aint never been good with
why play the game when nothin' goin' to change The only change that's wanted is loose in my jeans I get rushed on every corner by a bum or a fiend Tryin' to keep my
from the dead So he can make a fresh painting of my head Then I hung out with a king and a queen And the queen put me down with her polo team The way
terror, he warmed it up Parrish and Erick cat lyrics that'll make ya turn it up And I was in the cut, chillin' in my drop-top Benz With friends, loungin' with my
I just don't care I said My flos so cold I need a tampon from a polar bear And you can spell and smell my stink B.O. lingers and it makes you think Cause
and scream into the mic like Run-DMC Nine Inch Nails, Primus, 'Weird Al' and King Missile Influenced me like a postmodern epistle Geeked out on my Performa looping digital drums Playing
but always benign to my friends.... i show no benevolence so much eloquence when im chung my raps have no relelvance ding my boy jerome tell him to
my hood Haters still wishin' they could But they can't 'cause I'm still Gettin' it, gettin' it, get, gettin' it, gettin' it, man It feels good, I still gettin' love in my
home to your wives And leave me and Slug here to play with these bitches You know I spit the sickest sickness since syphilis Mixed with malaria, fuck it, the more the merrier B
my balance I gotta find my balance [Slug] Now all my friends are famous It's either one thing or another They all don't know what my name is Probably know both of my
our hearts, what else can I say? Yo, my G town homies I feel ya, my love and inspiration from Brownstown, Samira All the clubs we've played in and bands we played with
covered with Mac You got everything that others would lack Along with the F-A, B-O, L-O, U-S Your patience I personally admire 'Cause I started out a player
nothin' to me Playa if I can't share it with my muthafuckin' family I'ma roll with my heat and ride with my H.B.'s And make all my hoes say the love me
Because they don't know my name, only know my initials Building bombs in the attic for elected officials I quit my job, I cut my hair You know I cut my
but with the whipped cream (MIA, yo, London, yeh, a pound) It's all for show, so come when I call Ride with an underground king Bun B bumpin' in that
get my props And if you don't know my style, well look here my friend You saw _faces of death_? hehe yeah yeah aight then I'm tryin to tell my competition