Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song My Soul , by - Coolio. Release date: 25.10.2012
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
My Soul |
| You can try to throw salt, but I keep my game face on |
| And the only thing on your mind is stalkin' more digits than a telephone |
| Me and thirty-nine theives jumpin' out of white Hummer |
| From Compton (Wooh-wooh-wooh), while your crew get dumb and dumber |
| Grew up straight out of low cash like CB fo' |
| Now I got dough and you got one night stands like gangsta, yo |
| See on the low it’s all gravy |
| But the threat of this new world order is about to drive me crazy |
| And all you want is the Lex and gold Visa |
| Bomb singles and stackin' your chips like Pringles |
| While my rhymes jack for platinum plaques |
| Quicker than one time Jack Black’s |
| I twist sacks and sip yac |
| Plus, the Invisible Man got my back like a spine |
| So, why you all up in mine? |
| Keep the money and the fame cause all I really wanna hold |
| Is my artistic flavor and control of my soul |
| Ain’t no tellin |
| Most women are still waitin' and sellin' |
| Most of my homies is ex-felons (Convicts) |
| In two decades, rap went from Planet Rock |
| To crack rock |
| Now, everybody got a Glock |
| And it don’t stop |
| Till another brother drop |
| That’s why I poured out a little drink for the homie Pac (Rest In Peace) |
| What’s a thin line between love and hate? |
| A million dollars in the bank and you still can’t escape |
| It’s a small world, after all, you’re clausterphobic, you can’t breathe |
| So, store your ball like Christopher Reeve |
| It’s the hater in you that makes you criticize me |
| Cause if you handled your business then yo ass would see |
| Nineteen-ninety-seven is still crackin' |
| I’mma get the ladies out their seat like this was a car jackin' |
| They say the game is to be sold, not told |
| You can keep your bankroll, I want control of my soul |
| My jaws flip across sixteen bars like Dominique Dawes |
| But without no flaws, never broke a M.C. |
| law |
| See, I was servin' wack rappers at the school |
| When Bruce Lee was scrappin' with Kareem Abdul |
| You got into triple beams and guns you ain’t gon shoot |
| I seen a million rappers in the same Versace suit |
| Or, the same pair of locs, that’s probably why you’re broke |
| And your backstage and your ghetto pass got revoked |
| Scrappin' or rappin' what you want to happen? |
| If I ever come up short you the first one I’m jackin' |
| It’s theives in the area like aircraft carrier’s |
| We’re launchin' F-15's |
| And Anti-Wack Maf Machines |
| Michropone, sittin' on my vocal chord |
| Sendin' busta’s to the crossroads like Thuggish Ruggish Bone |
| It’s the C-O-O-L-I-O, well I, won’t fold |
| When I’m controllin' my soul |
| Chorus: Repeat 1 ½ times |