| The park got the pop like fish grease
|
| Full to the gills like a hooked up six piece
|
| With a biscuit on the spot like a fresh toupee
|
| For sunshine on a fresh blue day
|
| Gents breaking out they fresh new jays to match hats
|
| Ladies with they best do, laid and relax
|
| Like, the children skipping rope, double dutch chantin'
|
| Miss Mary Mack, dressed in black, hands clappin'
|
| Sweet Cadillacs with they backs sub slappin'
|
| Puppy love couples cuddle with they clothes matchin'
|
| Cops passin’harass and tail ya
|
| Sometimes pull your ass over just to tell ya
|
| I feel yous, amongst the rose and azaleas
|
| Got congregatin’like Martin King in Selma
|
| Just tryin’to have a good time like James and Thelma
|
| My cousin bang the Pac, my mama sang the Mahalia
|
| Feels good today, all the hood’s dismay
|
| Is outshined by what coming together could equate
|
| Through my locs see my Kynfolk that stood with me
|
| Dayton’s spokes, crown on leather and wood display
|
| My queen’s dressed for impression, that’s God sendin’blessin'
|
| Hot like the West End, Icebox on the FM
|
| We need this, more than Playboy needs Hef and
|
| More than your lungs need breath, uh
|
| Fresh air
|
| What a day
|
| At the park
|
| Fresh air
|
| What a day
|
| At the park
|
| Fresh air
|
| It’s gettin’cool, but the code still red
|
| Stripes and Patron on chill, my folks all fed
|
| Ladies, what it do? |
| Fellas, what it is
|
| Oughta have a blue carpet for the A’s on the list
|
| Got the bootleggers tryin’to appraise me some shit
|
| Like twenty dollars can put sunrays on my wrist
|
| And fo sho', this hot sauce stays on my fish
|
| Yo the ladies, playas gamin’like live on 'em
|
| DJ on the mic got the slide goin'(hey)
|
| Soul Train line moves like the glide throwin'(ho)
|
| On the slow songs, grind, put pine in the ozone
|
| Find somethin’fine to poke on
|
| As the sun puts locs on, light is no mystery
|
| Hickory smoke’s gone off the rotisserie
|
| Physically driven all over my nose cavity
|
| Tiffany strut as her booty oppose gravity
|
| How do I get her without her cold slappin’me?
|
| Have to been late in the park-parking lot
|
| Where trunks knock a lot and weed spark a lot
|
| And humidity’s scorching hot, will beef cook or rot?
|
| Summer breeze, in need, like Benjis and Jacksons
|
| Instead, pennies are stackin’and coppers’reactin'
|
| To how peoples’relaxin’in orderly fashion
|
| If you holdin’a rock then you ought to be passin'
|
| 'Cause they ain’t playin', got a cell you can stay in
|
| Can this night go off right? |
| I’m prayin'
|
| Please Lord, hear these words that I’m sayin'
|
| On this day, can angels party without Satan? |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Park, artist - CunninLynguists. Album song Dirty Acres, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп