Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Young Black Millions, artist - 9th Prince. Album song One Man Army, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 11.10.2010
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
Young Black Millions |
Aiyo, 9th, man |
Aiyo, BP, man, it’s Don Don |
I open up doors when I floss |
And I’m zealous for this money on tours that you claimin' that’s your’s |
While you lookin' like you out of sorts, I’m havin' no thoughts |
Of stackin' these chips while you smackin' ya lips |
Everything you talk about you need to think about |
It helps to bleed and treed on rap fiends, that’s what black needs |
Learn how to separate the real from the fake |
The cat from the snake, maybe then you could get a plate |
I never let a man take me out my character |
To prove I’m a killer, any nigga pull a trigger |
And you never too old to learn |
Put ya pride to the side and maybe then we could get a burn |
Everybody wanna kill for power |
Unity brings power, one man will just devour |
While we killin' off a portion of a strong nation |
We need to analyze this shit we facin' |
Aiyo, young black millionaires, we ghetto souvenirs |
After the Laughter sometimes comes Tearz |
We drink and pour the beers, sometimes we swear |
Young, gifted and black yet still we never fear |
You gon' bump this and you gon' like this |
Even if you ride out to it you gon' like this |
Even if you up in the club you gon' light this |
And money with the Clan, aiyo, you gon' like this |
Aiyo, the black Einstein, whenever I rhyme I design the ill line |
And get the crowd hype like Patron and lime |
9th Prince the soloist with a twist |
Sharp as a Razor that’ll cut ya wrist |
Fishin' out the water, leave the hook in his back |
For actin' out of wack, fat asses I slap |
I did bids, ran with stick-up kids, Vicious like Sid |
Black ghetto prince, my defense always in sequence |
Smack you senseless, never go against this |
Hip-hop is back and independent |
You could die in a heartbeat, the Granddaddy Flowin' Al Don |
Rockin' lucky charms, we keep firearm in our palms |
We’re ready and able at all times to drop the bomb |
With no alarm, my Staten Island niggas never stay calm |