Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Jerome, artist - Mick Jenkins. Album song The Water (S), in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 11.08.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Cinematic, Free Nation
Song language: English
Jerome |
Get on your feet and testify |
Lift your voice up to the sky |
Yeah, yeah, yeah get the, get the |
Yeah, yeah, yeah get the |
Yeah, yeah, yeah get the |
Put your motherfuckin' hands in the air |
Or you gon' need a halo, I’m a mothafuckin' slayer |
This ain’t no game, I’m not no player |
Nigga tryna find his way and then he bringing pain |
You better know we major |
I’m on this water heavy, what’s a little gold and a pager |
Wrestle with these words a young Mick Foley |
All I see is AC Slater |
These niggas jaded, 'bout to set it off, I be like Jada |
Still on the block it feel like Jenga how it tumble down |
Hands shaking like a Rumble, pack up we humble now |
Buzzing how we bumble now |
Leaving niggas puzzled, do the right thing and they buggin' out |
Know the free don’t stop for nothing, tell 'em niggas stop the frontin' |
Roll in front, so if you ever see teardrop you better know we choppin' onions |
I’m spitting yellow bricks, we rarely stop for munchkins |
That’s why I do not fuck with customs, I’m unaccustomed to these costumes |
Know that if you cross the free it just might cost you |
I’m not a doctor or Kevin Costner |
The way I’m dancing with these wolves, I pray I never lost her |
Step, I keep it steppin' nigga that’s a bet |
Relax and take notes, while I take tokes of the marijuana smoke |
Relax and take notes, relax and take notes, notes, notes, notes |
Put your motherfuckin' hands in the air |
And wave them like you just don’t care |
I’m just showin' love to my mothafuckin' people |
You can tell your mans we ain’t going no where |
Now keep your motherfuckin' hands in the air |
And wave them like you just don’t care |
I’m just showin' love to my mothafuckin' people |
You can tell your mans we ain’t going no where |
Yeah, yeah, yeah get the, get the |
Yeah, yeah, yeah get the |
Yeah, yeah, yeah get the |
Jerome in the mothafuckin' house now |
Let a loafer steppin', niggas better watch they mouth now |
Leaving loaded lessons, pray for blessings when the doubts 'round |
Thousand Island stretchin', I ain’t stressin' no salad |
I’m in this water where the sharks be |
Coming for the same place your thoughts be |
Artsy, dirty mouth, I never do the flossing |
Hardly, stuntin' on the niggas that’s frontin' |
I know they do not want it, I run over niggas that’s punnin' |
No I ain’t tryna kick it, I’m cookin' no bun in the oven |
I need it on the stove, push it to the people off a cottage grove |
Pot of gold, flooded more than Hollygrove |
Mothafuckin' Hollywood, never take a holiday |
I’m spotting foes everywhere, know that I get very rare |
Faced the God, what’s up Based God? |
I’m pacing hot, tracing opps |
Know your enemy, patrol your energy |
Don’t slip with niggas that pretend to be |
Only kin of me can call me blood |
Even a friendly can see the love |
We do it for the free and keep it up |
Tell your niggas they can keep the hate |
Tell my friends I appreciate, the value never depreciate |
This for my niggas, who be chillin' with them killers in the wild |
We gettin' high 'til we bug the fuck out |
It’s been a minute, I’ve been chillin' on the |
Prowl right, right |
And to my crooks from Chi-town all the way to Flatbush |
We get wild if you give us that look |
Hit you with the follow up and the right hook, right, right |
Put your fucking hands up in the air |
Or you gon' have to lay low when I motherfucking spray you |
This ain’t no game like Sega, don’t be a hero |
I’m with my good fellas and we 'bout to rob dinero |
Give me the pesos, give me the Euros, give me the dollars |
Give me the say so if these niggas want the drama |
If I call my partners up, body bags is popping up |
Keep popping shit, we pop the trunk, make you niggas popular |
Hit him between his oculars, what the fuck is popping, cause? |
Super Saiyan like I opened forty-seven chakras up |
Pussy hoes we knocking up, these flows keep stocking up |
As long as I’m rhyming I’m Ben Wallace on your wallets, uh |
My true shottas go blocka, blocka |
Soul shocking with the fire, probably light your block up |
Stop your blood clot crying, the pussy boy there dying |
It’s a cold, cold world, I think these niggas need the iron like «blaow» |
How you like me now? |
It’s the motherfucking Brooklyn king of them now |
Niggas jocking my style, I been all on the road |
I been checking out the shows, I been fucking your hoes, like blap |
How you like me now? |
It’s the motherfucking Brooklyn king of them now |
Niggas biting my style, I been all on the road |
I been checking out the shows, I been fucking your hoes |
This for my niggas, who be chillin' with them killers in the wild |
We gettin' high 'til we bug the fuck out |
It’s been a minute, I’ve been chillin' on the |
Prowl right, right |
And to my crooks from Chi-town all the way to Flatbush |
We get wild if you give us that look |
Hit you with the follow up and the right hook, right, right |