Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Outchea, artist - Halo. Album song Mansa Musa (Guest Starring Masta Killa), in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 25.08.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Jamla
Song language: English
Outchea |
Bussin' cool shit |
I keep my head on a swivel, knees deep in the gristle |
Empty pockets my issue I got a bread it official |
Homie shoot me a missile emotions on hold |
And save your tears for the tissue, only mama gon' miss you |
Lace up your Timbalands summer merge into fall |
We makin' winter plans time for servin' them all |
Scribe the verse on the wall empires certain to fall |
Not till my grandkids grandkids kids have a ball |
I encourage you all to doubt my purpose and call ‘em out |
Nine tail fox Shinobi flow, the murda route |
One who she heard about all by the word of mouth |
Dance in the mirror for your king, twerk it out |
Always a gentleman for the ones who are cinnamon |
Menu at Bennigan’s when I’m meetin' your friends and ‘em |
Reapin' the benefit, slide through the tenement |
Shake hands, kiss babies, you know the regiment |
Salute to the Wu, yesterday and tomorrow |
How many styles will you borrow from Masta Killa and HaLo? |
Bright Lady the kitchen, Ka$h choppin' and kickin' |
They’ll take it all away even the pots that I piss in |
So I’m on top of the mission providin' the plan |
No Land Cruiser just a Hooptie when I’m cruisin' the land |
Young Zulu I stand upon the shoulders of Bam |
Solid as a boulder get your camcorder, scram |
We outchea |
Bussin, yo |
I keep my thoughts on pivot so deep that you dig it |
Subterranean with it, if they got it, go get it |
Five deep in the Civic, I talk it and live it |
I never call back I hope your mama forgive it |
Lace up your Timberlands, summer merge into fall |
We makin' winter plans time for servin' them all |
Verse on the wall empire certain to fall |
Now till my, uh, not till my, yo |
Beluga white whale, jacket lapel, she in Chanel |
Word to Naheem and Pernell |
Word weavin' it’s like a spell |
Aw hell, she bought the curls |
Told her to twirl and she twerkin' it, what a girl |
What a girl, what a girl |
I should drown her neck in pearls |
She rule the world of this lyrical brainiac, matador maniac |
Kick the real, no slack, I ain’t fuckin' with none of that |
I run laps round my blind poet tracks |
That’s the truth, ain’t no lookin' back |
I post in the back roasted a sac of the potent potent pack |
Til my eyes criss-crossed I’m the miggidy, miggidy mack |
I sober up, providin' a plan |
No Land Cruiser just a hooptie when I’m cruisin' the land |
Young Zulu I stand upon the shoulders of Bam |
Solid as a boulder get your camcorder, scram |
We outchea |
I maintain that every people who came into Africa, Greeks, everything from |
modern day Englishmen, everybody that came into Africa did Africa more harm |
than good. |
And that Africa owes nothing to outsiders in regard to development |
because all of them declared war on African culture, war on African |
civilization, war on African ways of life. |
They began to bastardize Africa and |
confuse and create a kind of historical schizophrenia that Africans haven’t got |
rid of to this very day and they created whole words that did not previously |
exist like Middle East — middle from what? |