| Sittin' here, room getting smaller by the minute
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| Ain’t enough space to fucking pivot
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| Ain’t enough God in they eyes for forgiveness
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| We be in them trenches
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| Mind your fuckin' business
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| In the city where they value niggas tennis over tenants
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| Hoodrich baby what I call a death sentence
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| Momma check that bed every night, hope he in it
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| But you know we gotta get it so we left his ID
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| Shit, anything go
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| Barely 17
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| Snow on the Bluff trickle down the bloodstreams
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| We be fired up, I ain’t talkin' special teams
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| Got a goal motherfucker so I’m sewing up my seams
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| See, I gotta plug these holes up for the winter
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| And all these rats come in and try to share my dinner
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| Talkin' they working hard, niggas barely caught a splinter
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| I’m all up in her and when I’m finished, y’all can get her
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| Hahaha, They funny man
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| Tell em Nique, I been here
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| People street like a mirror
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| Selling fruit snacks in December
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| And them niggas behind me, naw man, they ain’t tenners
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| And naw, ain’t got no temper
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| And naw, don’t care bout sentencing
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| Quick to hand yo ass a 12 piece like Mrs. Winners
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| Off healing, Ion know where we headed, God with us tho
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| Bad chicks on the couch, that’s Arsenio
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| The way we take this rap niggas out, its larceny, yo
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| Well, well, well
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| Here come Nique with his black ass
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| Not only do I act bad, I lie and I carry arms like arachnids
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| Here ye, here ye
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| I’m lion motherfucking king
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| A peasant oppose? |
| He’ll be a dying motherfucking thing
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| I’m Tutankhamun if he would’ve stayed alive and learned to rhyme
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| Churning lines, adhesive herbs and terpentine, nigga wait
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| Burning time, forever earning mine but it be certain times I’m laying low
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| because for my demise the fucking serpent slides
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| O Goon got me, my Nefertiti, lil' Punjabi
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| Your rep ain’t authentic but I’ll admit, it is a cool copy
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| But I know niggas came just to hear me talk shit
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| Since the verse started, I ain’t fucked a girl, or bought shit
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| So uh, cooley bitch with a french braid, expensive sneakers dipped in gold
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| Porno star, she can lick a load
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| Imma slime her face like Nickeload'
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| But it ain’t green like Piccolo
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| I be picking hoes that love picking clothes
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| Got a sip of Michelob
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| Watching basketball
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| Can i live? |
| or won’t you niggas die, I wasn’t asking y’all
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| Fathom all and if you could, you’d see this nigga had the balls
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| Battle scars, I’m chillin now
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| Your rent is what my Bally’s cost
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| Ya little bastards, y’all matter fact faggots y’all
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| At the back of the parking lot
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| Baby Doctur asked «Why you crying Mom?»
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| She ain’t respond
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| She rarely did in those days
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| The parent’s kids don’t know pain
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| Then why do kids go insane?
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| Tuck em in and cut the lights, the whole room started change
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| Poltergeist performing pornographic images
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| Poof, my innocence has ended
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| According to scripture, we all was born demented
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| So why these niggas lookin at me so defensive?
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| I had the necessary impulses to pulverize and indulge in vagina when I blend,
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| virtue and sin
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| Who died and made me king? |
| I couldn’t tell ya, I missed the funeral
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| I like the way this crown fit and I like the way her mouth spit and purr
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| Fiction for a legend
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| Cookin up that poison, y’all be sure come back for seconds
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| Your soul’ll get swoll and that will cardiac arrest it
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| Rest assured we rest in pieces if the recipe’s affected
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| Invested in drugs, pussy, money, money, pussy, drugs
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| Invested in drugs, pussy, money, money, pussy, drugs
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| Guarantee she on her knees no matter who she love
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| And I’m a well-made, hell raising, son of a 12 gauge
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| Been on my Coolio since the Kenan and Kel days |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Fire Kicking Tree Limbs , by - EarthGang. Song from the album Shallow Graves For Toys, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп