| Ol' back street roads, where you taking me?
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| Got me feeling like home ain’t the place to be
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| Even when the love is gone, I can’t leave
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| But baby, who the fuck are they to say that I can’t dream?
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| I say back street roads, where you taking me
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| Got me feeling like home ain’t the place to be
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| Even when the love is gone, I can’t leave
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| But baby, who the fuck are they to say that I can’t dream?
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| I say backstreet roads, where you taking me?
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| When the motha’fuckin' sun go down, street lights illuminate
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| Death toll accumulate
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| Underneath the bullets that would ricochet, my mind get to calculate
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| I was a hundred dollars shy of a bill that was due today
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| Probably gon' get fired, yesterday I was an hour late
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| Spent the hour trying to explain, but they can’t relate
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| When I’m just tryna' fuckin' provide nigga, for Heaven’s sake
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| Never asked a nigga for shit, and that’s safe to say
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| See I got goals, and as long as I got goals to chase I could give two fucks
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| what they place today
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| Now I’m on the porch like a villain how a nigga chill
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| Hit the the town, catch a splinter when I grip the wheel
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| Porsche 911, feelin' like I’m Bobby Phills
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| My mama probably somewhere praying that a make a mil'
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| Lord willin', I be feelin' like someday I wouldn’t see these yours,
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| make 'em feel it
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| That’s what Cole told me, it’s no limit
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| Like that Percy Miller Hornets jersey, it’s No Limit
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| And baby girl I really hope you heard me
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| Ol' back street roads, where you taking me?
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| Got me feeling like home ain’t the place to be
|
| Even when the love is gone, I can’t leave
|
| But baby, who the fuck are they to say that I can’t dream?
|
| I say back street roads, where you taking me
|
| Got me feeling like home ain’t the place to be
|
| Even when the love is gone, I can’t leave
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| But baby, who the fuck are they to say that I can’t dream?
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| I say backstreet roads, where you taking me?
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| When my motherfuckin' Chevy came down, damn, flatline
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| I’m preppin' to on 485 at nine
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| Sweatin' on my leather, so I’m beaming seats
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| And gotta handle my business fast, 12 creepin' for no reason, Please believe it,
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| I’m thinking about the shit that never stops
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| I’m boomin' but I’m fuming, like he vroomin' like a Chevy block
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| Brain tired off a week of work
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| A nigga just wanna chief some Purp', split shells and eat dessert
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| Crack a tall can right beside the lake
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| I was unemployed, had to make it shake
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| Like speakers bumpin' Miami bass, get up and grind, find a plate
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| Shit, I’m far from perfect, but I’m filthy rich
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| Birthed on some fish n' grits, I’m full like a can of Schlitz
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| The oven hot, I grabbed the oven mits
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| Cranked the knob to 96, bumpin' somethin' southern biatch!
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| The oven hot, I grabbed the oven mits
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| Cranked the knob to 96, bumpin' somethin' southern biatch!
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| Ol' back street roads, where you taking me?
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| Got me feeling like home ain’t the place to be
|
| Even when the love is gone, I can’t leave
|
| But baby, who the fuck are they to say that I can’t dream?
|
| I say Ol' back street roads, where you taking me
|
| Got me feeling like home ain’t the place to be
|
| Even when the love is gone, I can’t leave
|
| But baby, who the fuck are they to say that I can’t dream?
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| I say backstreet roads, where you taking me?
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| As I walk through the valley
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| Lord, free my mind
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| As I walk through the valley
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| Lord, free my soul
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| For I don’t know which way to go
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| Lost my way down these back street roads
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| As I walk through the valley
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| Lord, free my mind |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Home, artist - Elevator JayAlbum song Still Slummin' - West 1996 Part II, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп