| Call the doctor up, the jewels sick
|
| Front get confronted, the tools grip
|
| My gun stay long like a pool stick
|
| I don’t need it, I could kill em with a toothpick
|
| Like a bad hand, no prob. |
| folding em
|
| Make em a golf course, 18 holes in em
|
| Like a Jamaican shirt, 28 grams I could make it work
|
| Straight to work, like amber stay alert
|
| 'Fore I creep up behind you
|
| Won’t see me coming like the swine flu, huh… times two
|
| Remind you I’m way way worse
|
| Like the FK, AK, trey 8 first
|
| I tell mami «ohh display your purse»
|
| Treat my dick like a sprite obey your thirst
|
| Walk in the weed spot, Louie shirt, g-shock
|
| Lennox Ave to d-block, we hot… oowww
|
| My mom had 3 strokes, fell hard
|
| No sympathys, flowers, get well cards
|
| All swell god, no lost love Ak
|
| She driving again, put her in soft spot
|
| Gotta thank Tito Poppin, off top
|
| Got her medicine, vicodins, cough drop
|
| Now I’m back out, niggas jaw drop
|
| Girls dras drop, glass say fuck em all ock
|
| Hit em hard rocks, right in they soft spot
|
| January 2nd until the ball drop
|
| I don’t lobby for more props, I’m something that ya’ll not
|
| Porsche hot, out in the ball park
|
| The faucet leaking, I don’t play with leaks
|
| Song get played early, break his teeth
|
| I’m a fuck the nigga up that made this beat
|
| Two piece, dope fiend, straight to sleep
|
| I’m a keep it a hundred, these niggas don’t want it
|
| Either a head shot or a bullet to the stomach
|
| If you live, you’ll never fully recover from it
|
| If you die, we gon pop bottles 'til we vomit
|
| And nah, we don’t wear diamonds, we roc comets
|
| My money came illegally, fuck it at least I’m honest
|
| Finally bout to leave all the bullshit behind u
|
| So right now death is the only thing I can promise
|
| 40's and the lamas, we hitting everything except the shorties in pajamas
|
| Shooting in the Miami heat, like Chalmers
|
| Slugs make you feel like you rocking leather bombers
|
| Somebody call the coroners, I’m a hustler did numbers in the drought
|
| You at your moms crib for the summer on the couch
|
| A lot of niggas suck, nothing to figure out
|
| They put themselves in the hole, want you to dig em out |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Talk About It , by - Cam'Ron. Song from the album 1st Of The Month: Box Set, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп