| Ay, yo, I’m skinned up, Nike’s is scuffed
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| Still buggin' earlier around four how I escaped the bust
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| The way I fell cracked the face of my watch
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| My mans chantin' me on like «Run son! |
| Don’t go up in the spot»
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| Jettin' through bushes and backyards, neighbors is rattin' me out
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| Dogs is barkin' all you hear is the car’s sirens
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| I’m tryin' to think and toss the iron
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| Bomb in my sweats got me runnin' funny, you think I’m lyin'
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| May God strike me if he don’t like me, I’m tired and I’m out of breath
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| The weed got me paranoid, my heart’s poundin' through my chest
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| Tryin' to focus up and make progress
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| That’s what I get for slingin' in them projects
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| Next thing you know I’m in this bitch’s crib chillin'
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| Told her my story and like this I had her legs in the ceiling
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| Cookin' me fries, fish sticks, hot side of them biscuits
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| While she doin' this, the bitch still slidin' on lipstick
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| Now I got the fat stomach on, she crackin' a dutch
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| I’m playin' with her pussy on the couch, I’m ready to fuck
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| Like come here miss lady wop, where you put the condom box?
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| She finished off the last one, oh shit I hear the cops
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| Handcuffs and talkies, I mashed her white Yorkie
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| Jettin' up the stairs, them pigs want revenge like Porky’s
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| So I slid, hid behind the wall, opened the door
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| Like ooo I seen my man Meth goin' in raw
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| So he jumped up balls out, hid in the closet
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| I’m dyin' laughin', he said «Yo Starks be quiet!»
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| …and let me put my drawers on, nigga what kinda dope you on?
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| Shoulda knocked before you came in the spot, Ghost you wrong
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| Bustin' in here on that government shit
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| Got this chick screamin' grabbin the sheets tryin' to cover her tits
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| She’s asthmatic and you laughin' son
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| I bump my toe on the nightstand just runnin tryna grab the gun
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| 'Cause shit’s real man, you spazzin' dun
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| There comes a time in a man’s life, he gotta toss his pack and run
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| You know we family like Crack and Pun
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| But Mr. GFK, state your business after that, be one
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| Now can it be that you hot, lord?
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| You did some shit on the block that the cops tryna lock you for?
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| Can’t believe you blowin' the spot, lord
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| My chick is buggin', she trippin'
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| My dick keep slippin' out my boxer drawers
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| Now I’m caught up in the drug sting
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| Niggas is callin' my horn, police is hittin' every corner we on
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| Can’t understand it, it’s a thug thing
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| And in the middle of thought, I’m interrupted by Shallah Raekwon
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| I need my money Meth, gonna buy them hundred birds
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| Tell Tone get at me, all them little clients want work
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| He know we fresh out, tell the kid meet me, matter of fact beep me
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| Word to mother lord, son he got me hurt
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| You still fuckin' shorty? |
| I knew it
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| The big mouth broad that be yolkin' my balls out
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| Her little brother wanted two bricks
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| You know the nigga licks, a Maybach on twenty-six
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| All he do is get money, hustle, he’s a dick
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| He told me foul shit, wild shit
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| That nigga wear a lot of loud shit, no that Steve Rifkind style shit
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| Hit me with some other talk, him in New York
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| They robbed the Venezuelan niggas, stabbed his son with a fork
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| That was Jesus' rooster’s little niece, little nooses
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| Father’s homeboy, that’s the kid who gave us a boost
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| He gave them things on the arm, said for us to be calm
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| And if some beef pop off, go ahead and ring the alarm |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Yolanda's House , by - Ghostface Killah. Song from the album Best Of, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп