Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Global, artist - Mac Dre. Album song Rapper Gone Bad, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.1998
Record label: Thizz Nation
Song language: English
Global |
I been tryin to flip the script and take this rap thing to the next page |
But the federalies got me travellin on _Con Air_ like I’m Nicholas Cage |
Did 4 years, 4 months in the feds, but couldn’t get no peace |
Released from the belly of the beast, but the 'ralies put a nigga on a leash |
The rules and regulations they inflicted, had me restricted, paroled |
Kept me from blowin bomb, knowin and I’m hooked and addicted for sho' |
Now how am I to be an MC when I can’t get my travel on? |
Can’t bring no babby home, cause every morning I’m gettin sweated by Babylon |
The only way out is to max out and give these fools back they lease |
Fuck parole, probation, piss test and supervised release |
I’ma bring a calendar, bounce, blow up like Chernobyl |
Kirk out and get mobile and do this thing global |
Worldwide rompin, stompin in other nations |
Blowin bomb with Jamaicans, and sippin Dom with them Haitians |
Kickin major flows, have Asian hoes, play the romp, maxin for 'ternity |
Kick gravel, travel, see what they know about me in ??? |
We be global |
Touch land and that sand over the seas |
Blew off of coco leaves, releasin verbal telekinese |
For sheez, clickulate with players |
Under the stairs, to the Himalayas |
Kinda thick, layer for layer (2x) |
Sometimes I sit and reminisce about life in '87 |
When I was doin my thug game, brain ten miles higher than heaven |
One-track minded, blinded by the game and quick change |
Not knowin across the way-way niggas were doin big thangs |
And it’s a shame, cause before I hit the f-e-d's |
I didn’t know about them niggas in Cuba and them sisters in Belize |
Now I’m curious — is Belizan pussy the bomb? |
When they blow, do they hum, and how quick do they come? |
Boy, it’s time to hit the friendly skies and fly like a seagull |
Post up in spots where the pot’s good and legal |
Eat tacos in Mexico with cats named Flaco |
And catch a red-eyed flight the same night to Morocco |
Top-nacho, chasin superbad scrilla villains |
Then bounce to the Phillipines and get mo’head than guillotines |
Boy, life ain’t nothin but fat checks and head sex |
So I’ma get mobile, stay global like FedEx |
I was a cell dweller, eatin Top Ramen and sardines |
Now it’s Taiwanese Japanese cuisine |
Barefooted, fitted, sippin on sake |
Blow on big hashis while I feast on teriaki |
International is how I’m smashin, hoe |
A cutthroat nigga that will blast and roll |
I took a trip to Queens to see Jazz and Preme |
They had a nigga blowin brown, said it wasn’t no green |
But that ain’t no thang, cause in Tacoma |
I blew bomb till I was in a coma |
And in Seattle my partner Chilly Chill |
Got that purple leaf dank that really real |
I’m global, boy, I be travellin |
Gettin further in the air like a javelin |
Chirpitch, kirkitch, finna bounce to San Coy |
Mac Dre, global, holler at your boy |