Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ain't Promised Tomorrow, artist - 9th Prince. Album song Prince Of New York, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 10.11.2008
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
Ain't Promised Tomorrow |
| Everybody gotta get they shine on, you know? |
| Yeah, my nigga Gooch, fuck ya’ll bitch ass niggas want |
| On the productions, T.M.I., what up No Smiles? |
| Aiyo. |
| scream on all ya’ll muthafuckas, Smiles what up nigga? |
| 9th Prism, uh-huh, scream on 'em |
| Life is a gamble, we scramble for dollars |
| Real niggas holla, my snub nose’ll pop ya collar |
| I burn hotter than lava, Granddaddy Flow saga |
| You ain’t promised tomorrow |
| Aiyo, target practice, street hazardous |
| Sleep with the AK underneath the mattress |
| I’m not a shorty rhyming, I’m more like designing |
| Bullets blow ya spine in, fine wines and blue diamonds |
| Grenade in white, gold shining, murder he wrote |
| Once my lyrics slit his throat, notes float against the coast |
| Niggas turn spook like the holy ghost |
| I ain’t hopping on no bandwagon, The Last Dragon |
| Granddaddy Flow assassin, bury them all |
| From the latest to the greatest |
| Dancing on the stair, aiyo, they got me on they hatelist |
| Contagious with mad faces, yo, life is like a deck of cards |
| And I’m playing for all aces |
| Aiyo, my mind is killing machine that flows like a guillotine |
| To the extreme, shines like an infered beam |
| Cuz I’m Lord of the Rings, bulletproof blue jeans |
| Valor jackets, tephlon money green looking mean |
| In case you wanna get hype, young Bloods and Crips |
| Want they stripes, give 'em a reason, put a bullet in ya windpipe |
| My gun hold, sixteen strikes, that’ll keep the crowd motivating all night |
| Til the break of light, 4th Disciple, keep the clubs right, I’m cooler than cool |
| Iller than ill, born to be, realer than real |
| Everything I say you feel, like hot lead from blue steel |
| Niggas lose strategy, your majesty, the warrior’s tragedy |
| Lyrical casualties |
| Turn any spot into the block, sipping the rock |
| Twisting the bop, one leg on the wall, watching for cops |
| Invaders, brick wall, elevators major men |
| Persuaded in a one night stand, according to plans |
| My joint don’t jam, oil a nozzle |
| Goggle a bottle, half an inch, here, take a swallow |
| Sneak in the Apollo with the gift of gab, no ride |
| Gotta hitch a cab, on the blid-ock, pitching a slab |
| This pisces, mixed in an ocean with red crabs |
| In the gym practice the left jab, you pussy ass |
| Your gun don’t blast, muthafucka, we pull fast ones |
| Make fast ones, Stapleton grandson, the older crowd |
| Taught me to teach the new breed, sip brew, twist weed |
| Twirl twigs, Tommy Two-Times |
| Twist twinkle sticks, wiggle wiggle, I got gift |
| Like Kris Kringle, top dollar, nigga, fucking holla |