| I slip, I slide, I lift, I’m a mover
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| I ride, I whip, I been steppin' on cracks, momma’s hip
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| I slip, I slide, I lift, I’m a mover
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| I ride, I whip, I been steppin' on cracks, momma’s hip
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| Neck, back broke, had to double back, mainstay
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| Only lip, brain state
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| Off the whip, gotta bump, gotta say
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| I been down by the law long
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| Ain’t got the time, know you wanna holla back
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| Same number, new number
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| Same nigga, new nigga
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| Don’t be talking out your back
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| To your partner, to your family, to your nigga sitting pretty
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| Don’t be talking 'bout your racks
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| I done proved every bar, every bar
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| I’m a source, let’s not talk about the raps
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| I’m about to hop the pond, get some pounds, get some pounds
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| I ain’t talking 'bout the whip (skrt, skrt)
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| Curb side, my low level bird eye
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| If I’m not hitting licks with the missus
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| Talking bidness with my nerve, why? |
| Word, aye?
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| Let me get a pack of reds, pack of papers, Now & Laters, it’s a herb eye
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| Suddenly you hand me the itching sweet lies
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| And right now, yeah, pearls before swine
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| But the swine’s too deep for bitter melon
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| Then follow in the secret recipe
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| Livery cab floating, heat high
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| Window cracked, moist, open, curb side, bean pie
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| Wild black, pithy slogan, paid tithe, large tax
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| Here’s hoping we sly, they lax, they lacking
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| Billy Ocean, high tide
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| Speed traps, wasted motion, poke the ride
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| Feedbacks, sofa boating, laser scoping, quarter bribes
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| Kneecaps
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| Somebody tell him he won’t ever play again
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| It’s over
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| (You got your whole life ahead of you son, nothing' to be ashamed of)
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| Saved by a good guy with a gun just stolen
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| Graves but they don’t have names so it kept going
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| Go crazy, you trying' to figure it out, just stay in the moment
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| Stay in the moment
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| Livery cab floating'
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| That buck that bought the bottle coulda struck the lotto
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| Sounds tight, but ring hollow
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| That’s nobody’s wife, that’s Frida Kahlo, that’s Frida Kahlo
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| Flights like Rollo, pescado, I make a water swallow
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| That buck that lost the lotto coulda bought a fucking bottle
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| A hundred fifty roses in an ocean of milk
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| Light leaped on the camera, smoke how it feel
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| Ooh, I got you open
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| Out the box for your mulch garden, coach pardon
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| Power harnessed, powder harden to rock
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| That was catharsis, from the starship
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| Face down on the carpet
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| Ooh, and the arcs twist
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| Was it a swoon or a target of the archer
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| Departures, arrivals, left foot on tight rope
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| Crows peck my eyes closed
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| I heard you niggas was manifesting'
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| Kissing' between the thighs on the boardwalk
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| Cross talk, ecstasy, voices dragged out by the tide
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| Bouncing' back, found a jetty on the grind
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| Blood in my eye, I’m doing' quite fine
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| Next to me, far from yours, true
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| Nothing’s sacred 'til I made it so
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| Which way is up? |
| Still got a ways to go
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| Oh |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Frida , by - Armand Hammer. Song from the album Shrines, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп