Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Roll Call Reloaded, artist - Chamillionaire. Album song Mixtape Messiah 2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 30.04.2006
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: chamillitary
Song language: English
Roll Call Reloaded |
Industry is saying that boy got skills |
And the streets is saying that boy so real |
Who that boy tracking that boy Chamill'? |
Always give you somethin that boys gon' feel |
«Try to give you somethin that you boys gon' feel» |
Yeah! |
Still in the streets, still sticking to the plan (plan) |
All this ice on me, got a frosted out hand (hand) |
White coloured Lam' lookin like a snowman (man) |
Hundred karat chain, see the neck, they like «Damn» |
Cheah, y’all know me |
Eff the industry, I’m still the same old G |
Serve to the streets till you lames O.D. |
Mixtapes like crack, the next thang’s on me |
Some of them be talking but snitch is what we call 'em (snitches) |
I be gettin gwop way from Houston down to Harlem (Harlem) |
We twenty deep if it’s a problem |
Don’t want nothing truly cause they thinkin we gon' rob 'em |
And you know how we be mobbin |
Police lady talking bout the trouble that we causing (keep it moving) |
You gon' have to keep it moving darling |
And we gon' keep on doing what we doing and what we causing |
Yeah! |
Young Millionaire, they can’t deal with this swagger |
Feel the banana, will squeeze the hammer |
I see your forehead, it will see the handle |
Will eat your money, will feed your ama- |
amal, Rambo, I will enjoy |
I am nutting if she’s slutty just like Almond and Joy |
Programmed to kill, get beat, I destroy |
Whatever to get the money, little duffle bag boy |
Dope boy, gotta feel me, I’m real tight |
Doing what I really say I do in real life |
Cheque got the chain homie, this some real ice |
A hundred and fifty K for it, that’s the real price |
Bust it baby, wanna give me in her living room |
Making music for the hustlers and the real goons |
Let 'em know, album bout to hit 'em real soon |
All you rappers gon' have to make a little room |
I don’t know what the problem is, pockets thick as a hippopotamus (hippopotamus) |
Breezy lookin in the dash of my drop top, tryna see what mileage is (the |
mileage is) |
She done flunked about fifteen somethin colleges |
Your opinion is irrelevant as a XXL columnist |
So tell that breezy she better be a skater (skater) |
She’s best to get up out of here cause the pimp like me won’t date her |
Uhhh, I’m a pimp, you the one that paid her |
Pulling off in my scrape and it black on black like I’m Darth Vader |
Hopped off the porch and homie didn’t like that |
So now I roll solo and don’t even like cats |
Chain lookin frozen, I’m showing a icepack |
Loyal to the streets, I hand you the mic back |
I put down my pistol and boy they get slapped |
But it ain’t even fun cause I know he won’t fight back |
Can’t leave the streets, they love me just like crack |
I’m like Uncle Sam, yeah homie, I like that |
Other rappers just be having million dollar thoughts |
I’m a rapper that can pull a million out my vault |
Do it like boss, don’t matter what the cost |
White on white Phantom, sittin fat, I gotta frost |
Nobody selling that, record labels falling back |
Back off in these streets, show 'em how to get a stack |
Show these other rappers and these fun trappers how to act |
Throw-throw some D’s on it and put some more on top of that |
She approached me, I ain’t approach her |
I had a forty-ounce on my coaster |
You know I want to hit that west coaster |
Candy car blue, that’s the Hou on my roadster |
And the same color on my low-low |
Got a couple homies with that chronic for the low-low |
For sho' though, and I ain’t with the snitchin, that’s a no-no |
That’s why I’m riding solo and I’m lookin out for popo |
I’m off the metre, they want me to let 'em know what’s the deal (deal) |
Cause I’m a Texas player that’s only gon' keep it trill (trill) |
You ain’t gotta look for no longer, the trill is here (here) |
No need for falsifying, them fakers gon' disappear (disappear) |
Probably shouldn’t give a trill rapper the mic |
Cause he gon' kick that realness and trill ish that they like (like) |
And the street credibility gon' match to the hype (hype) |
Talking bout you keep it gangsta, only happens you might |
I’m an N.W.A., no manners and bad grammar |
Surrendering for what? |
No waiving the bandanna |
Tell the tool man how I handle the damn hammer |
Try to punk me and I’m breaking that man camera |
Just tell MTV to send a doctor the bill |
And if the bill make it there, you’ll need a doctor for real |
Keep a chopper on his seat to keep a watch on my wheels |
Mashing in the Lamborghini like the cops on my heels |
I ain’t even writing homie, I just press record |
And all you say is great before I make it to the course |
Hear your little voice tryna make a little noise |
Till I let you little boys see my picture in the Forbes |
Tell Forbes to get it straight |
Cause they gon' have to account for what I do with the tapes |
I never bounce a cheque, I don’t even bounce to the bank |
G5 everywhere, get a million miles on a tank |
Industry is saying that boy got skills |
And the streets is saying that boy so real |
Who that boy tracking that boy Chamill'? |
Always give you somethin that boys gon' feel |
«Try to give you somethin that you boys gon' feel» |
Shawty rock to the beat for your boy |
Shaw-ty, do it |
Ay-ay, got a fleet full of toys |
Whole bunch of blue whips |
Gettin cheddar, cheddar, cheddar |
I be gettin cheddar, cheddar, cheddar |
You know I be grindin, grindin, grindin daily |
Grindin, grindin, grindin daily |