Текст, перевод и аккорды “Feelin' It”
- Most of these rap niggas be fakin Im talkin the throng chases I diss em on any basis Throw patrons and steal my faces Stay blunted like jamaicans The Marleys puffing the finest chifa Fuckin the finest divas If I have it, Id like to meet cha Show you how I light the streets up Kill niggas that never speak up You my fans Sit in the stands and watch me rip these beats up Like a legend, feel my presence like the dead ones If I die, my only wish is my face on some And-1s My soils curled, my baby mamas they drive sixes As for my bitches Theres other rappers out there thats trickin My only mission was to sell a couple records Buy a bentley and drive reckless A big medallion on my necklace I seen Daddy Kane and Rakim do it So much respect kid Hip Hop is dead because you new niggas dont get the message I used to call names out You niggas dont deserve it So lame out Die from these bullets outta Game's mouth Chorus My flow polished, I studied the legends Hip Hop scholar kick knowledge Get dollars, you got some work then holla Im on the block pitchin Most of us got riches, not trippin Work hydrolics and fuck the hot bitches Youngins dont stop wishin If you got a block then flip it Just because im blood dont mean my niggas should stop crippin We from the ghetto We came up without a pot to piss in We gettin money stayin blunted Cuz the clock is tickin You got a rock then pitch it You got a glock then lift it Them G-unot t-shirts make them niggas stop snitchin Forever ballin' Im jim jones With rims on that blue aston martin Interior like my skin tone Most of these rappers want me dead Shit I been goin' Two classic, move rapid, my jewish black kid The first 8letters and everything that I stand for Colder than a New York block Shut the damn door Chorus Niggas callin me back for an encore Like im eminem I disappear niggas like spinnin rims Who the fuck want a war? Meet us at the corner store Call it the hot spot Where gangbangers throw hot rocks The boys comin, so what, they pop cops Push them hot drops How bout them shirts on that say we got rocks High school dropout stayed to air the block out Stack paper like the old G's told us We only chirp on Nextels Dont talk on the Motorolas Gotta feel that, so kick back And scope what im sayin Picture me parlaying Im flippin bricks while you eatin pussy You chicken shit I fuck bitches on Natime I chow on Nadime Gettin head under the table Everybody stay calm
Поделитесь с друзьями:
Поделитесь с друзьями: