Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bad Boy On Death Row, artist - Dave East. Date of issue: 29.09.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Bad Boy On Death Row |
| I welcome y’all to greatness |
| You now witnessin' a legend |
| Real nigga shit |
| Uh, I’ve seen it all from a crackhead livin' room |
| Never get in-tune with negative vibes |
| Look in my eyes, 27 years of pain when I glance |
| Thing in my pants, never ever came for romance |
| Finger fuck her 'til my palm hurt, I came with a plan |
| I came with a Glock, bullets run out, niggas gettin' socked off top |
| We were sellin' dope like we was from the ROC |
| Off pot, hangin' out the Cutlass lettin' off shots |
| Bill Clinton gettin' head, you buggin', you think I’m not |
| Donald Trump ain’t safe on my block, got’cha your wifey at IHOP |
| Your baby mother love that cyclops, my one-eyed monster |
| Interrogations keep comin' back, shit feel like karma |
| Had grams now I’m movin' with bands, ain’t talkin' Contra |
| Verse-y, Lord have mercy on a nigga ridin' in the Mercy |
| With some Hershey and she from Marcy |
| The brain Bosley, nigga fuckin', no Bill Cosby |
| Samsung, champagne spillin' on it beside me |
| Laced in Tom Ford, hard bottoms in the lobby |
| I missed the Met Gala, eatin' linguine with the best scallops |
| Shit, I knew we was the best before I met Khaled |
| Chasin' lettuce out here lookin' for the next salad |
| I’m from the East Side of Harlem, I never stress violence |
| Checks pilin', black shades wave the TEC smilin' |
| Nautica trunks, a hundred blunts on the next island |
| My neck stylin', 5 karats on the angel wings |
| Aventador on Gold Daytons, it’s a Compton thing |
| Don’t make me switch whips, hop in the Ghost like it’s Halloween |
| Run up on a con spittin' Ether like I’m out of Queens |
| Walk up on a nigga, broad day, take him out of things |
| Leave him like Barkley, make him play the block without a ring |
| Me and Dave, Styles and Jada, heroin and gasoline |
| R.I.P. |
| to Yams, but we in Harlem cookin' collard greens |
| I start trippin', it’s like Future when he out of lean |
| And I don’t do construction but this hammer hangin' out my jeans |
| And what you rappers gon' do when you run out of memes? |
| You can run on Instagram, but can’t outrun the beam, nigga |
| Dope in Michigan, Detroit Lions stamp |
| I run it like Barry Sanders, the Spanish Meyer Lansk' |
| Hoodlum, my alliances out in Brooklyn |
| We play steps like Crooklyn, follow the law, Tookie |
| A hundred bookies, bettin' on Golden State |
| Fiends sniffin' 8 balls, I watched his face go in that plate |
| What he snortin' up? |
| Cuttin' wiretaps, you ain’t recordin' us |
| Fresh pair of J’s and still I fuck Michael Jordan up |
| Go to jail, smack CO’s and tell the warden, «What?» |
| My niggas at your crib with your daughter underwater, stuck |
| Mastros, order up, Audemar, quarter tuck |
| Baltimore with the packed pockets fat as Lady Luck |
| East |
| Sour got me up in buildings like I’m Peter Parker |
| Trash bags to the ceilin', it ain’t no need for talkin' |
| Keep your opinions, when I’m finished, you gon' need a coffin |
| Out in my city, cameras flashin' like The Beatles walkin' |
| Knockin' Lenny Kravitz in a 5−5-0, ride by slow |
| Couple my bitches slide down poles |
| That Ace of Diamonds, King of Diamonds stadium now we at Onyx |
| I see head in my future, called that like he designer |
| A nigga called himself a thug, but we know that he vagina |
| The rap Jamal Lyon, pour heat, they call cryin' |
| I’ll crush your Empire, then eat your girl cookie |
| You only good with the hooks, Hakeem, you fuckin' rookie |
| Understand that I ain’t like nothin' you ever seen in your fuckin' life |
| (Nothin') |
| Bouncer at the club from my block he let me tuck the pipe (I got it) |
| You havin' problems with your spouse 'cause you don’t fuck her right |
| I’m probably somewhere shoppin' for a house to keep my comfort right |
| (Comfortable) |
| Lennox Ave to Rosecrans, First to Cedar Block |
| Fiends was up early so I was the first to see the block |
| East meets West, my nigga |
| They say Compton is just like Harlem, I know that’s right |
| Soon as I land in JFK, man, had a fuckin' |
| Had a fucker' Uber take me to muthafuckin' mid-town, man |
| Pick up my fuckin' Lambo |
| Then I am heading to Harlem 145 in Lenox |
| That’s where I play, Game, nigga |
| Pull the Lambo in that Amy Ruth’s, they know me in there |
| Gimme that corner table in the back |
| Let me get that fried chicken |
| That cornbread come out first, smokin' |
| Real nigga shit |
| Compton |