Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Blue Collar, artist - Guilty Simpson. Album song Detroit's Son, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 20.08.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Stones Throw
Song language: English
Blue Collar |
I’m a blue collar rama |
And I’m on a body armor |
Rode me down pull me now like a dally lama |
From the city where the chopper is the party stopper |
Over before it started coldhearted started |
Starving from half a mill fuck gold artiste |
What these fuckers eat sole garbage |
Your man fell off i guess he had his carma |
Keep your comments in something you not apart of |
Stop dropping road flows road arsense |
Terror is my error no margins |
You blood splatter decorate apartments |
They trying to figure where your parts went dark |
That chrome make them run home like what you hear to partfence |
A had a heart since knee high running in levis |
Singing he ya yo oh macdonald |
Got your bitch drinking in comeless caddle |
And enough skills to deep throat the whole bottle |
I’m so not your everyday AVG alo hollas |
Flip over your atv It’s long they will never see |
I know what you need to destroy on the hpb |
And squad go apb |
I make them strip in them red shirts |
Put your face on it, it takes moments |
You don’t have to wait on it i put in word too |
I want same bonus and if It’s not same on us |
Same notice I’m not a lane we don’t have highs |
Game of Gods of most giants |
Stonehenge is diamond is my abdominal game |
I like swallowing pain ingest destruction while |
I wobble the plane |
And he’s serving his time for murdery lines |
Make way i don’t play the popular game oh fuck |
I guess it makes no sense that I’m further convincing you |
My pin hold down an upper peninsula |
Life for a king i put a person on |
If hiphop is dead then i don’t think the success is real |
Shout out to Bill living on the hill |
Because I’m driven haters want to find the kill switch |
They trying to stop me but your text is sloppy |
To the freaks in the bed calling me papi |
How do you want it the intellect is fatigue is dead |
Thats a no no like sneaking a spread |
Low low while you speaking to the feds |
With photos that’s where you got a sold album |
To weaken your thread and more flows from the fountains |
By force and know you off the high horse you on |
Fuck a motivator ain’t nobody greater |
Inside the equator for now and later |
From digital to beta when i cater |
I serve you like a waiter with subpoena papers |
Put the pin game down constant |
Fucking with me using insane clown posse |
The one with the juggalo chicks drop them clothes |
And hop all over my dick like where the rubber go |
Damn yo you don’t want it fair though |
Going in and going off like ammo |
You better don’t have a cam though |
It will never happen I was made with this gift of rapping |
I got you for ever trapped in |
I am made all i do is write rhymes |
Get high and blaze Ryan Hayes |
And age to my dying days while i lay in J’s |
For L’s i get the sky praised |