Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Home of the Brave, artist - Killer Mike. Date of issue: 10.03.2003
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Home of the Brave |
| Since last heard I’m still Randy Moss |
| And I still catch a beat runnin' when its tossed |
| And often light green kiss my ass to coffin |
| Cut the bull in Harlem on sloughths (?) and |
| Cut the bull then I’m seven duece Impala whore dance |
| Ambidexterious juggle pretty girls and they friendly fifty friends |
| Hit Jamacia rollin' papers turning up spotta benz |
| City corners I’ve been in a duece double O three Benz |
| I’m sittin' on those dubs twins |
| I’m from the city where kiddies ride on dope rims |
| It’s where niggas snap shot and they ain’t takin' pictures mista |
| I’m well equipped to hit ya', same birthday as Hitler |
| I’ll getcha |
| Hey we rep that A |
| A T L A N T A state of G A |
| G A G A home of the brave |
| Home of the brave G A G A |
| Home of the brave |
| I got a Tahoe, and a Thai ho |
| She work out fit like Taebo |
| Get my findy (?) Air Force Ones |
| Shit wait I’m so old |
| Last one to Louie Fitoine skins on my timbo’s |
| Gettin' blown in a limo, that’s my M. O |
| Rolex presidential, get a pistol to your temple |
| I’ll let it faint, leave your brain lingering in limbo |
| Southern fried that’s how I ride, creed on simple |
| Kill 'em all let God seperate good from evil |
| You faggots do it for glory |
| Y’alls just do it for my people |
| I’m grand national built beautiful and legal |
| A town down Braves started cap from the land of the made |
| Ain’t no hard atrap after depts of the dungeon |
| We livin' artifacts where niggas rip chickens |
| Talk bricks, keep an artist strapped |
| Flame throwers got us hot in the spot |
| Wreckin these dog tails through red dog stripe |
| It’s like all hell, block cells |
| Make bail and it’s back to these crooks and cakes jumpin' at next cell |
| What you know about the way the whales |
| Kiss it your body scaled |
| I’m 'bout to hit by the box of tens through the mail |
| Then reply beaten twelve sickness spinnin' on twenty-ones |
| We produce many guns, we spittin' at anyones |
| Disrespect (?) little bows |
| And I’ll cock and explode up |
| Take me to the grave, grave, home of the brave |
| So slums, so sligh, nigga (i'm) straight ducked |
| You can ask my baby’s mother she’ll tell you niggas shit |
| He the type to fuck a bitch |
| Rob that bitch’s baby brother |
| And I’m the type to rip ya bitch leave the shit up under your covers |
| (?) blessing from sin |
| New recrutes we in it again |
| Rap so hard we flippin' again |
| Walkin' dubs on the benz |
| One, two, crack fiend |
| Three on boys street jeans |
| Four full blown hit the scene |
| Five like trap (?) |
| Like a thick ho in sassy jeans |
| Rub her right she’ll cream |
| Fuck her right moan and scream |
| Killer kill out on (?) |
| Swervin', servin', bouncin' the buttons |
| Like 5 5 9 truck somethin' |
| Two Glock nines round dumpin' |
| Round my hip strap ain’t jumpin' |
| Keep my bitch dunkin' somethin' |
| Be outlawed bangin' 'em down for bustin' |
| — repeat to fade |