| Pimp shit, uh
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| Uh, pimp shit
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| Yeah, turn my shit up a little bit
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| My vocals, uh, uh
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| I hypnotize ya eyez and then you recognize
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| That the sparkles of my chrome shoes paralyze
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| Gettin' money like this, people want my vibe
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| Full of jealousy and pride, hate the way I ride
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| Sometimes ya speak, sometimes ya don’t
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| Figure this nigga souped up, cause he couped up
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| Guaranteed to rip shit, soon as its louped up
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| Ya niggas slept, swear your girl’s panties wasn’t wet
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| I’m a star, double the dick, the double R
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| Never score hard to leave the bubble scarred
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| Not the car, it’s the man, daddy cool put it down
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| No comparin' me to ya’ll, nigga is circus clowns
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| L. ain’t worth paper, ask Russell Simmons who put 'em up in that skyscraper
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| Ask my dogs up at Fubu, who made them major
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| LL nigga, now who’s next that need a favor
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| Drop a bomb on 'em
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| Remain calm on 'em
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| Peirce the nipples, throw the LL charm on 'em
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| Keep gangsta shit pumpin through my system
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| When my strobe lights flash you can’t miss' em
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| Listen
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| Call my name, ooh
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| Call my name, uhh
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| Call my name, aw yeah
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| Call my name
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| 59th street bridge up a roadway, do about a buck
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| Pumpin Mobb up in the Cadillac truck, don’t give a fuck
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| Gold tint, goldiggen broads getting bent
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| We can fuck, but you ain’t getting 10 cent, Who want it?
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| Lay the facts out until the cats out
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| Set 'cha back out, sweat 'cha tracks out, blow out your weed
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| You wake up in the mornin to a note, «Nigga had to leave.»
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| Be easy, you shoulda teased me, instead of bein sleazy
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| I wouldn’t do you greezy, come across more floss than gold teeth
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| I learned you can’t eat, if ya hold beef, with niggas underneath
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| Still I’m a lyrically hold it down
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| L back in town, 'case the bell sound for second round
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| Some of these old ctas is funny, fuck who’s legendary
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| I’m tryin to get this money
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| Drop a bomb on 'em, and pour dom on 'em
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| As soon as the track come on, I transform on 'em
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| Keep gangsta shit pumpin through my system
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| Strobe lights flashin can’t miss' em
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| Listen
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| Call my name, ooh
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| Call my name, uhh
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| Call my name, aw yeah
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| Call my name
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| Rappers don’t reall want it, they might claim they do
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| They know I’m catchin bodies, go 'head name a few
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| After I blaze you, I get a doughnut
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| Don’t want no blood up on my chrome shoes
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| Lord have mercy, this rookies got it confused
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| You thought you caught me slippin, I was falsely accused
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| Sleepin with my eyez wide shut, like Tom Cruise
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| They wishin an impossible mission to see me lose
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| Lay up time to choose, all I hate is on the left
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| You hopin and prayin you get to hear me take my last breath
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| Lyrically, but I gang bang the track, chop sling like Cracker
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| Hundred keys a month, you fuckin up G backs nigga
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| Invincible, unstoppable ya’ll niggas ain’t ill your illogicale
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| This is L, the pigeon thriller, dream fulfiller
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| A little somethin for ya ice guerillas
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| Drop a bomb on 'em
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| When its time to attack Quiet Storm on 'em
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| Hold ya nuts and keep ya palms on 'em
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| Keep gangsta shit pumpin through my system
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| When my strobe lights flash you can’t miss' em
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| Listen
|
| Call my name, ooh
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| Call my name, uhh
|
| Call my name, aw yeah
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| Call my name |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ill Bomb, artist - Funk Flex. Album song All World 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп