Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Image Fantôme (Pavane Pour Une Enfant Défunte), artist - Jane Birkin. Album song Fictions, in the genre ПопDate of issue: 16.03.2006
Record label: Capitol
Song language: English
Image Fantôme (Pavane Pour Une Enfant Défunte) |
| Mmm, aiyyo gimme that microphone and I’mma handle it |
| Don’t even worry 'bout it, we about to handle it |
| Alkaholiks in this bitch about to handle it |
| Pass that weed lil' mama I can handle it |
| Back that ass up beeitch I can handle it |
| Pass my drink lil' nigga I can handle it |
| Don’t even worry 'bout it, we about to handle it |
| It’s Likwit crew nigga, we straight from Los Angeles |
| It’s the L, the I, the K, the S’s |
| We still the West’s freshest cause we started from the essence |
| Look ma no hands, they gave us microphone stands |
| So I can stand with two bottles while I dance with the fans |
| Dance with me, press against me, cause I’m reachin out grab it |
| Slappin asses cause CaTashtrophe’s an Alkie chick magnet |
| I’m a beauty pageant judge with a glass full of buds |
| It’s 1:59 they’re tryin to shut down the club |
| Last call for alcohol unless you meet us at the after hours |
| Pull up to the front, yeah baby girl, the house is ours |
| Don’t bug, spillin shit on my rug |
| I’m a Rollo with a motto, safe sex — soft drugs |
| Thugs in my mansion askin why the fuck is candles lit |
| I’m about to kick these niggas out but I can handle it |
| The superfly vandal standin with the guns and ammo |
| If you scary change the channel (y'all niggas fuckin up my shit) |
| Handle bus-i-ness appropriate, we L.A. street associates |
| I’m tryin to have some fun but peep this bullshit I’m copin with |
| Niggas with guns got they, eyes on my funds |
| I cain’t, walk out my door y’all might, pop me and run |
| Don’t trip cause my pump made 'em run like Forrest Gump |
| Now it’s back to the bitches, the bottles and the bumps |
| Pumpin up the sounds cause that’s how we do |
| But we still partyin at 5 and L.A. closed at 2 |
| without last line |
| «Hell motherfuckin…» |
| Yo the bass is in the place, sho' nuff shrugged your face |
| Like R. Kelly gettin sprayed with a can of mace |
| Girls get freaky to the fonky beat bumpin |
| Which one of y’all down, cause I’m tryin to beat somethin |
| We hold down the city, they call us the drunk flowers |
| If your girl from L.A., she probably already know us |
| So «Braniac dum-dums, bust the scientifical» |
| We much more than typical, bust flows like a pistol |
| The words I spit, are more dangerous than a bullet |
| Make the wrong move, I’m on your neck like a mullet |
| Big dog style, we Rottweiler pitbull it |
| Smoke a bleezy with a breezy if she ain’t scared to pull it |
| Y’all women used to want us to just love and hold ya |
| Now you C-walkin talkin 'bout you need a soldier |
| I send this missile in ya I destroy and dismantle it |
| J-Ro in this bitch and you know I’m 'bout to handle it |
| Ain’t it krunk, this is Likwit MC’s |