| I got a cousin that plays for the Utah Jazz
|
| But I don’t have to run the two to shoot y’all ass
|
| Peace to Ronnie Brewer, on the mic I’m the manure
|
| Got a Ruger for the coward tryna hate on the computer
|
| Mad because my power made him say that I’m the future
|
| Or maybe cause I taught they baby mama Kama Sutra
|
| Since then, I’m feelin' like I must be on parole
|
| I told her I was Guilty, she put me in the hole
|
| I put her on exhibit, then I put her on the stroll
|
| She makes a bigger bankroll than bitches on the pole
|
| I clap for the cause, I scrap for my dawgs
|
| Imagine Mayweather with a Mac in his drawers! |
| (BRAT!)
|
| A daily combo, I’m the Head Honcho
|
| All about my doe, fuck casual convo
|
| Unless you talkin' 'bout that bread, then you ain’t really talkin' fam
|
| Nuff said
|
| The future… the future… I’m… I’m… the future!
|
| The future… I’m… I’m… I’m the future!
|
| The future… I’m… I’m… I’m the future!
|
| Unh, let the games begin
|
| I’m from the OX, but don’t got bulbous chin (?)
|
| Nah we hot, we somethin' like ash wind
|
| Has-beens, quick to get peeled like, dead skin
|
| If two clips of five want to act big
|
| Washing ten off the mac, like Red Skins
|
| Set trends, world wind
|
| Rain, wind, and fire through mic wires, like X-men
|
| Deep waters, still see the shark, fam
|
| Tony Gywnn with the pen, not the park (?), nigga
|
| Get used to the name, cause we ain’t goin' nowhere like, Cranberry stains
|
| Strawberry on my Blackberry page, bad with names cause of Raspberry haze
|
| Street medley, so the thugs engage, and go heavy
|
| That’s plain that the future’s ready
|
| Let me back at 'em… yo
|
| I rap for the rugged hard heads that stack funds
|
| I don’t recommend it, but I choose to pack guns
|
| In case my foes make good on the promise
|
| To put me in the ground, I ain’t always do it honest
|
| El presidente, killers on the congress
|
| You’re mere mortals, the flow’s monstrous
|
| Get bound and gagged and beat unconscious
|
| Shank in the mess hall, murderin' all convicts
|
| My bloody hand solves all conflicts
|
| Why talk, we can settle on some mob shit
|
| Your swan dive when shit gets deep
|
| At the bottom of the creek wearin' cement feet
|
| What! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Run , by - Guilty Simpson. Song from the album Ode To The Ghetto, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп