Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song My Piano, artist - Hi-Tek. Album song Hi-Teknology 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 10.12.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
My Piano |
| Yeah, yo, they wonder why I play my piano |
| Why I stay low-key, why I’m always in the studio |
| Heh, that’s what I do, you playing with the game |
| I play my piano… yeah |
| Is it the love for the money or the love for the game? |
| Is it the love from the honies or the love for the chains? |
| Is it because, most of these little niggaz is wack? |
| Or because the game is yelling «Bring that real shit back»? |
| Is it because of the limelight I’m just trying to be famous? |
| Is it cuz the game dying and I’m just trying to save it? |
| Maybe I’m just successful, so much I won’t be cool with 'em |
| Maybe it’s because I’m crazy, just in love with my music |
| Hi-Tek… |
| They wonder why I play my piano |
| You can’t deny it if it’s in you |
| Get that money, that monero |
| Wait any longer, it will stress you |
| Aiyo, flying threw the Aspens in Claiborne glasses |
| Burning a Churchhill, a bad bitch dumping the acid |
| It’s Bailey’s on ice with big straws |
| Moneray boxers gleaming while the twin gloss stuck to my drawers |
| Jadakiss baldy with chicks on me, bricks on me French/German murder, Swiss Army, you can never snitch on me |
| I’m too strong, I’m spinning my web, across town |
| In rough places and black alleys, getting that bread |
| If I get broke I’ll sell slabs of soap |
| Beach bags of smoke, told y’all I don’t fuck with Tone Loc |
| This is a Staten Island thing, you could ask Saulhadin |
| We wilding without Deck while we become very violent |
| Until then, I play the piano |
| Luciano on the base, Mariano on the block with the sage |
| I’ma grind 'til my seeds is grey |
| Still young when I’m eighty, pop in Cialis and fuck all day (Huh) |
| Got the hood jumping, Champion sweats |
| Nike Flight suit, boots on, 'bout to put in and then jet |
| Streets love killas, brothers with swords |
| Suede front, spraying pumps, lobbies where the losses is brought |
| New shotties for the youngsters |
| Got trees, sit in the weeds, white T’s on looking for Munsters |
| Everybody punched in, it’s lunchtime |
| Look at the line, yo I moulded this design |
| My gunsmiths? |
| We carry two four-fives, trooper tired |
| But got that gun that shoot stupid fire |
| Bagging up work, I’m back on the Earth |
| About to make something happen fast, put a stack in my shirt |
| Yo, all the covers you could hear |
| Monster status, yeah, year of the great ones, a griz bear |
| Make mines, you know a nigga rip lines |
| It’s part of the character, but other than that yo I’m on bitch time |
| Yeah, jump up, hang down, nigga, Staten… |