Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Choices (feat. Asher Roth), artist - Action Bronson. Album song Blue Chips 1 & 2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.04.2015
Record label: ABC
Song language: English
Choices (feat. Asher Roth) |
This shit is jammin' though |
In here bloody and muddy |
I’m smashin' bottles of bubbly |
Run for cover, brother, this thing here b-bout to get ugly |
Yup and under a submarine bare as the kitchen cupboard be |
Californication, Agent Mulder, David Duchovny |
You makin' my Jack a double please |
Serve it with the knuckle cheese |
Crocodile Hunter and some Buddy Lee Dungarees |
Barney Rubble, trouble lover, somethin' Hubble never seen |
Floatin' like a butter wing stingin' like a bumble thing |
I love it when I hear them scream |
Eat it like a tangerine |
Make you feel uneasy like your feet up on a trampoline |
Don’t be so deceivin' with your penis eatin' fantasy |
My semen is the meanest |
Undefeated when I plant a seed |
Hatin on me, hatin on me, wait for my decay |
You gon' have to wait bit longer |
I won’t ever go away |
It’s like they say |
You go to Vegas and while most of it will stay |
You in dirty with some herpes |
Is it worth the price you pay |
You deserve it little twerp |
On the verge of somethin' great |
'Til some overrated lames in the game got in the way |
I’ma have to take it over |
James and D Wade |
It’s neither the Black Sheep |
Would you look at David Spade |
Yeah I’m here to save the day |
Caped Crusader, Super 8 |
If you’re squeamish at proceeding I suggest you look away |
Yeah, beat it, best believe it when Arena takes the stage |
You need a lighter when I feed 'em a liter of Tanqueray |
Teething a type of pain, eighteen is the ripest age |
Ain’t easy to fight the feelin' when dealin' with hype and fame |
Leadin' the life of caine |
I’ll leave him and swipe his chain |
Breathin', nice to meet you |
Good evening, glad you came |
First of all, don’t ever say a fuckin' thing about the homie |
Call a favor in and leave your dyke mother very lonely |
You a phony doggy, holy shit |
Know the flow exquis- |
Eyes low, one-handed I control the whip |
No reservations needed to get the table |
I walk in, the chef calls me Chef that’s my label |
Shaved Ricotta Salada, infuse the oil, basil |
Standin' like a man in situations, get disabled |
A lot of hundreds in the jacket pocket |
Know I blast the rocket, lift you in the air, just like an astronaut is |
Lack the passion novice |
We play on All-Madden |
Old 'Lo jackets, Navajo patterns |
Been a grown man since the day I was born |
You strange and deformed |
You sit at home while I get paid to perform |
Now we put em on the Greyhound, eighty-five dollars |
Better choose wise bitch |
You fuckin' with some scholars |
Old Impalas Jumpin' like Rasheed Wallace |
Smokin' joints like a barbecue pit |
I’m honestly sick |
Some would say retarded and shit |
My mind sharp cause I eat garlic and shit |
Swervin' the whip quick |
Little dick |