
Date of issue: 14.10.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Mass Appeal
Song language: English
Reform School |
I’m a lunatic, I got 5 on it once the doobie lit |
We was lockin' my room door stuffin the Boosie clips |
Runnin' with hooligans I put in my work |
Wipe the slugs and guns off, with the tip of my shirt |
Two .23's, when we ride on our enemies |
And hit em up if they don’t hit me up first |
And my army fatigued, it’s still gunpowder on the sleeve |
Niggas get shot every day B pull down ya skirt |
Before I lift it up, show the whole world ya pussy |
And how you niggas been some bitches since birth |
Cause we them Sig Sauer boys hittin' em where it hurts |
Twistin nigga’s cap back and pop a nigga |
With a squig and a squirt |
He dug his own grave, I’m just revealin' the dirt |
Got some bullets to chase a nigga, to the end of the earth |
Until we meet again, I think with death ima flirt |
Give her that old evil grin and my devilish smirk |
Fuck y’all niggas what y’all wanna do |
Bumpin' my new shit mobbin' with the crew |
Stuck to the blueprint and ride with the tool |
Let me know if it’s a problem cause the solving we could do |
Dead bullies and Red Bull is all in his stomach |
With a couple bitches with whom relations ended abruptly |
Grab the mickey and the coaster and sit it |
Now I been sober a minute, ho tell your soldiers forget it |
Spit it as cold as the frigid, dare me to host it and shit |
Just carry the flow to the clinic, carry the coast on my shoulders |
Various hoes in the whip and they blowin' smoke at the chauffeur |
Carry the dope in they britches, bury a foe in the ocean |
I can’t help it it’s Tan Cressida, gram sellers |
Pantera records and bodies stuffed in the damp cellar |
Far from the fronting, my niggas was in the back |
Yelling cause we came from nothing like everything that you can’t tell us |
Speak soft, sock a fan, shut the camera off |
Ramp camp Camelot, canon cocked, lick a shot |
Bop, bop liquor slosh bottom of the belly |
Bars lock hard hitting like they squabbing with the celly |
Fuck y’all niggas what y’all wanna do |
Bumpin' my new shit mobbin' with the crew |
Stuck to the blueprint and ride with the tool |
Let me know if it’s a problem cause the solving we could do |
Smokin' all the green, exhalin' dragon breath up out my nasal |
Order steak, rosemary with the basil |
It’s too rare, get it off my table, way I pimp |
Should of stuck with the shrimp, dick stuck to her lips |
The money stuck to my thumbs, I’m spittin' rounds like a drum |
Bitch said her man was a bum and he think he got that bag |
Get her high and dog her ass, she tellin' me 'bout homie stash |
I listen up and roll my grass, before the blunt was even ashed |
I hit my homie on the jack like |
Just got the word on what the lick read |
Essex county, and he sitting on 'bout six Ps |
Is you 'bout it? |
he say «for sure» we rushed to move |
Riding with my top gun like Tom fucking Cruise |
No license behind the wheel, blowing red signs |
I push that red line before fed time |
Get the flip and write a verse or two |
Nah, us niggas never heard of you |
Denzel in training day, motherfucker I’m getting surgical |
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Hallelujah ft. Vinnie Paz, Action Bronson, Fashawn | 2014 |
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Artist lyrics: BOLDY JAMES
Artist lyrics: Earl Sweatshirt
Artist lyrics: Da$h
Artist lyrics: Domo Genesis