Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Popeye, artist - CookBookAlbum song YES, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 16.12.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Just-Us
Song language: English
Popeye |
| Guy 1: Wait, whose this guy? |
| Guy 2: Oh that’s Blu, yeah, but don’t worry about it, he’s legit |
| Guy 3: It’s go time! |
| Strong to the finish 'cuz I eat my spinach never diminish |
| The tie that binds or masterminds the rhymes the size of Grimace |
| Rise of interest coupled with the time I spent on grinding gives this |
| Rhyming man surprising visits from the peeps in line to get it |
| The rap DiCaprio of rapid flow and rapping slow |
| You can bask in the afterglow the classic ask me McEnroe |
| Hot headed holy mackerel the Ang Lee of collateral |
| Damage the music admiral of cabbage supernatural |
| Sippin' a Budweiser on a porch in a lost forest |
| And of course she shows up in a Porsche and I’m like why now |
| She gets out in a tight blouse and a jug of Hefeweizen, wow |
| Ha, you know how we do it every day |
| Every time I flip a style I leave the town in disarray |
| But this display you try to play I smack 'em make 'em history |
| David Beckham when I check 'em bend it wreck 'em Rachel Ray |
| Phenomenon one, phenomenon two |
| Me hit em with the rhyme and they don’t know what to do |
| The rhythm is designed by the righteous man Blu |
| Phenomenon one, phenomenon two |
| Ug-ug-ug-ug-ug-ug-ug-ug-ug |
| Anchor tatted, anger manage pack my pipe full of my drug |
| My drug is love the drug of choice I drug my voice all through the mud |
| Now I’m forced to drink the poison girls and boys into my thug |
| You got busted with mollies by federales |
| I ollie over your folly and stay on track like trollies |
| The makaveli, making calls to Vali and Abu Dahbi |
| Still ball out like volleys |
| Spend my days in utter jolly (c'mon Cookbook) |
| The veteran letterman, letter depending better jams |
| The Penn and Teller pentagram on pendants on Pantera fans |
| The big hair 80's metal band with mental fans and devil hands |
| Cannot compare to Cookie’s specimens penciled so genuine |
| I’m up in church like the new Lurch |
| Deucey down to the tube socks so sweet that my tooth hurts |
| And my crew pops up leaps up to new perches |
| Loaded on the boxes I’m barely |
| I miss smoking on the rooftop and falling in love |
| I know it sounds faggy, I used to wear my dickies baggy |
| Bump bump doobie, and kiss Mexican groupies |
| Now I’m back in a feathered hat. |
| Where the cheddar at? |
| Why diddily, diddily, diddily diddily, dee |
| Rest in peace we used to listen to him speak |
| C.L. |
| and Mecca were shocking gangsta were jocking |
| As we drove by in Uno’s jeep |
| All hail El Salvador |
| Savior till later days |
| And the ways all lead to the same or relieve the pain |
| It’s a drain that leaves you the same damn mouth |
| That packed up and took a plane down south like the Spruce Goose |
| Pedestrians, thespians, lesbians, equestrians |
| Love the luscious lyrics party harder than some Ke$ha fans |
| Catch a glimpse of fresher, man |
| Luxurious like Lexus brand |
| Hold your horses, Texas man |
| The rap Obama, «Yes, we can» |