Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song I Love You, artist - The Diplomats. Date of issue: 31.12.2002
Song language: English
I Love You |
| People say my theories is backwards |
| I tell them, sincerly, it’s clearly, you hearing me backwrds |
| I tell 'em I’m great, but still I need practice |
| I tell them to wait, go and comeback quick, they don’t understand me |
| It’s not logic, I’m not logic, I got problems |
| I worship the late prophet, the great Muhammad Ali |
| For the words that he spoke, that stung like a bee |
| Soaked into me, you niggaz will see but |
| I’m still insane, I’m Rodman, dealing my brain |
| I’m grinding sharing my pain, fuck, where is the fame |
| Niggaz, they still rhyming, still in the game |
| They still dealing the cane, still cock shit in your brain, homie |
| I still smell the rotten people that lay |
| There in ground zero, forgotten, left in for days |
| Probably left there to stay, left in decay |
| Broken pieces of towers, left in their graves |
| I pray they be saved, until then, that’s just a suggestion I made |
| Follow me homie, listen, I subjected my ways nigga |
| Weapons that spray, at your fucking face nigga |
| It’s Santana the great, in the place niggaz, stay away nigga |
| Cause I’m headed straight to the top, niggaz |
| Diplomat Taliban slash ROC nigga |
| Oh yeah, I do this for my block niggaz |
| D train, Al Gator, pop niggaz |
| Young drugs, young twins, Shiest bug |
| Niggaz I love, my thugs |
| Now, come fuck with your boy |
| Jones, Killa, Freakay, come fuck with your boy, WHOA |
| It’s Santana again nigga, no bandanas just him nigga |
| In the flesh, like |
| I seen it time, business and friendship |
| Friendships ended, business attended, clips get extended |
| Lawyers get called, accountants get faxed |
| That was my man, well I wish that he meant it |
| It’s been a long time, hereing the mobsters |
| This ain’t overnight, it’s years in the process |
| Shed a tear in the process, now process is over |
| All my niggaz get prepared for the Oscars |
| Back to the block, sharing a lobster |
| Morris Malone, Sam Malone, preparing the vodka, holla |
| Hallejulah, no hum-du-allah, but respecting my Aki |
| He held me down, when it was getting real rocky |
| Hustling, isn’t a hobby |
| I sit in the lobby, look at my ovie, have visions of Gotti |
| Visions of lotties, pictures of Blood, scenes of L |
| I wanna see my son, piss in that potty |
| Jimmy, I’m going to make sure your wrist is real rocky |
| See my plans are for long term like Mr. Miyagi |
| Wax on, wax off, put our wax on, take that wack off |
| Over some nights, I had fights over the white |
| The roads to the lows, I knows what it’s like |
| Now, career over like Mike: anyone |
| Tyson, Jordan, Jackson, it’s over |
| This shit right here touched my soul, man |
| My grandmother or something, 56 bless her soul |
| Apartment 56 that is, 101, West 140th |
| Rest In Peace Liddiah Giles, Blood Shed. |