Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Everything I Love , by - Diddy. Song from the album Press Play, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 15.10.2006
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Bad Boy
Song language: English
Everything I Love |
| The world at my sneakers |
| Gold pieces molded with Jesus features |
| Give streets the fever from the way I spit the Ether |
| Came on the scene at 19 a gritty fiend for |
| Money, power, respect, get it by any means uh |
| New Yorker, slick talker, walk like a brick flipper |
| Decimal doctor, multiply to get richer |
| I’m a entrepreneur, I’m the heart of the city |
| I’m a part of the sewers, I’m the honorable Diddy |
| I taste the dirt in my sweat, that’s from the Harlem struggle |
| All in my swagger that’s the reason why I got my hustle |
| I got the highest stature, Miami diamond flasher |
| I got you caught in the most flyest and stylish rapture |
| My signature next to Christopher Wallace, get it honest |
| My first album due to him, that was my biggest project |
| Now I’m the illest known to walk like the illest soldier |
| And when I smoke, only roll up with the illest doja |
| You sit and mull it over my venom a killer cobra |
| It’s Harlem USA, I diddy bop and shop with Oprah |
| (Yeah nigga, what) |
| Nigga what |
| From my voice I’m killing 'em |
| I shed my blood |
| About everything I love |
| To the eye blacker, over handed face the palm smacker |
| Good scrapper, cat stacker, good wood packer |
| Tear up the Dom P wrappers faster |
| Platinum Patrón splasher, fuck Cris', spit atcha |
| I call it rich ignorant laughter |
| Black American express card all grey now, its scratched up |
| From constant usage, girl kidnapper, pop tags off tags |
| Poppa making monster music, and still I Costra Nostra |
| Big roaster, skin cola, girl when I send for ya |
| Bring friends wontcha? |
| I’m from the 80s, NYC 5 percent of culture |
| Breeze through with that old school blue malaroma |
| Wrist glowing, ho-ing, fly off in a Boeing |
| Slide off with your ho, and spend six figures on her |
| My persona, Sean John unforgivable cologne |
| Copping the biggest diamonds makes me sorta bi-polar |
| Ferrari to Phantom, vehicles for high rollers |
| The studded chain around my neck, it makes the night colder |
| (Yeah nigga, what.) |
| Nigga what |
| From my voice I’m killing 'em |
| I shed my blood |
| About everything I love |
| The Queens Crypt keeper, Mets hat rocker |
| Pretty bitch slobber, ex-robber |
| Heister, my own life biographer |
| Pants sagging, Bentley whipping |
| Summer Jam stopper, Timb Chuck wearing |
| Cranapple Vodka, then I spray choppers |
| A doctor in the jungles of Haiti made me |
| Draped in paisley bandanas, suits with Adam Stacey |
| Cigar like Dick Tracy, its dark I get spacey |
| Alcohol and laced weed, that was part of my 80s |
| The Cartier consiglieres be near me |
| Canary yellow cuts in my pinky yearly |
| Liz Taylor tried to jux me |
| 'Cause I keep it green like the other side of Bill Bixby |
| When he gets mean |
| Think fast 'fore I blast hoes like Grassy Knoll |
| Went from scraggly old clothes to the illest fashion |
| And realest rappin' |
| Pablo back on the scene, won’t roll back up with green |
| Strictly paper cruising through the strip in Vegas |
| Two of New York’s biggest niggas |
| Y’all used to hate us, but now you love us |
| Nas and Diddy, power hustlers |
| (Yeah nigga, what) |
| Nigga what |
| From my voice I’m killing 'em |
| I shed my blood |
| About everything I love |