Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Honeycomb, artist - Mac Dre. Album song A Tale Of Two Andres, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 16.06.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Fillmoe Coleman
Song language: English
Honeycomb |
I’m such a diamond back sparrow, illegal drugs in a barrel |
Had to shoot cupid with his own arrow |
Makin' noise like SLOT machines, and when I CLOCK this cream |
I’mma get up in your mind |
Rap, GLOCKS, 'n thangs |
And crash the party like the 5−0 |
But I didn’t come to break it up, I came to make the party way more live ho! |
Situation’s fornication |
You never seen an occupation like mines, and the rhyme design |
Flamboyant like the Liberace, blow weed like kamikaze |
To the bitches that really want me, to the niggas that never spot me |
Throw heat like quarter backs, down at the warder track |
I gave ya money for dope, you bring the quarter back |
Indica and everythang, and when the bell rings |
It’s like the twelfth grade tiga, man we gon' sell thangs |
Make trips to Hollywood, and Chicago |
Down in the Florida Keys, and Maraco |
My mother got a twin sister |
Meanin' if I seen my mother’s sister |
I wouldn’t know if it was my mother or my mother’s sister |
Aim like a P210, bullets that cut the wind |
Brought up and born in the church with doin' major sin |
On everything I’m in, this how I play to win |
Just the sound of a lawsuit makes a tiga cringe |
Cu-cu-cu-cut your body |
Man Nicky very naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty |
(Chorus — Andre Nickatina) |
Man it’s the honeycomb, You get your money gone |
You either hoop, or rap, or get your blast on |
Man it’s the honeycomb, You get your money gone |
You bring a sack of crack to the drug zone |
Man it’s the honeycomb, You get your money gone |
Makin' cash so fast over a cell phone |
Man it’s the honeycomb, You get your money gone |
You think it’s jokes to crack on your funny bone |
(Verse 2 — Savage C) |
My style is like a rifle, spittin' on rivals |
And I put that on disciples in the Bible |
I’m spiteful |
Of crooked hoes, crooked po’s, and crooked crows |
I blaze studios with nuclear thorough flows |
Mouth runnin' like a track meet, 'No diggity' like Black Street |
Lyrically we pack heat like jackas on back streets |
Suckas is sorry like Atari, we’re hotter than the safari |
Talkin' shit like Charles Barkley off a fifth of Bacardi |
Burnin' sacks like Bob Marley, hittin' j’s like Iverson |
Rhymin' doper than Vicadin the trunk boomin' like a Esiason |
With more nuts than Murder Dog, we bust it like shot guns |
Call me Tom Cruise because I bomb fools like Top Gun |
I cover my ceilings with verses to keep things under raps |
And my floors with (?) just to stay on track |
Get it crackin' like pile drivers, the microphone MacGyver desire |
To stay higher than five sky divers |
And if 5−0 creeps, they gettin' shook like hands |
While we slide out to the honeycomb hide out, like champs |
We block journals while blazin verbals 'til' our hands turn purple |
You’ll get jumped like hurdles by Nicky and Nocturnal |
(Verse 3 — KD) |
I got spits like I had a thousand pairs of lips |
We never slip cuz we all about our grip, don’t trip |
We’re the opposite of sluts cuz we never give a fuck |
And we crush what we bust |
Credential city on the hush |
Cuz I wipe the songs up on the microphone |
Until the fights break out and all the lights turn on |
It’s gettin' rowdy like bar fights, know nothin' but hard nights |
A Nocturnal hustler and I love to play my cards right |
So understand I’m the man in this |
Steady chokin', always smokin' on the cannabis |
Like the bodies in cemeteries, we stayin' underground |
They told me drop it like it’s hot, so I had to put it down |