| We slip and slide while we fuckin'
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| Cause my sheets is fully silk
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| I told her get up water my White Oleanders with some milk
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| White man’s guilt is the black man’s poison
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| That’s why I’m always paranoid
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| Why I be hearing voices
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| Middle finger rigamortis
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| While they stuff me in my coffin
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| Porches flyin' saucers
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| Saucy scuffin' up my Jordans
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| Mushrooms, trippin' high
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| Talkin' to the Dolphins
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| Adderall, caused a cosmic shift in my endorphins
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| Flip quick with that thing
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| On my hip, I’m mighty morphin'
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| Y’all niggas all talk
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| No action like Zordon, (Rangers)
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| Thug outlaw immortal
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| Flyin' out a time portal
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| I ain’t miss a whisper nigga
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| Now I’m comin' after all you
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| Frank Wright mixed with a twist of Lord Vordul
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| Started kickin' shit in the projects
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| Now I’m royal
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| Never save a ho
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| Like Popeye and Olive Oil
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| Never shit on a nigga
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| When he filled your stomach for you
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| Don’t forget to fear me
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| I know y’all niggas scared
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| Pray that they ignore me
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| Pray they keep thinkin' I’m weird
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| Came to you in your sleep
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| And spoke death inside your ear
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| You ain’t flinch, kept your eyes closed
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| And shed a single tear
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| Pussies don’t have tongues
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| So pussies can’t talk
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| Fuck that shit
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| DONT INCLUDE ME WITH NEW YORK
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| I rode up on a elephant
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| And slid down the trunk
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| Rose petals at my feet
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| That’s a hell of a stunt, nigga
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| Your ho is a no-go
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| That bitch fucked for Polo
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| Sucking on it like Rolo
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| Back 'em up in that four door
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| You fell off like row-row
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| She jump on it like pogo
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| All she want was a photo
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| Then I stuck it all in her chulo
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| She called me Papi Chulo
|
| You lost boy like Rufio
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| Bitch, like, go in my 'cuzzi ho
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| Before I punch your ass in your coochie, ho
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| Genesis or Sussudio
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| You penis and booty, ho
|
| On Venus in a studio
|
| And that’s out this world in that booth, ho
|
| You smokin' on that panthro
|
| Rambo, an example
|
| For the Land Ro when I man, ho
|
| With my dick all out my pants, ho
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| Got pussy smellin' like anchovies
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| Stomach lookin' all roly poly
|
| Fucked that ho on a Friday night
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| Sunday, act like she don’t know me
|
| Spastic with this rhymin' shit
|
| Caskets if you attackin' this
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| Turn ratchet with that ratchet
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| Smokin' on cactus with that ratchet bitch
|
| No martian or no monster
|
| No goon goblin, none of that shit
|
| I rap batter, so fuck?
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| And anybody in your motherfucking clique
|
| Devil’s dandruff, but I dabbled with that angel
|
| No Buffy, doin' damage to my brain cells
|
| I’m the leader
|
| Gamma rays make my brain swell
|
| Fuck your album sales
|
| Tell me how that 'caine sells
|
| The afro samurais
|
| Tatted up like Allen Ive
|
| I tore my heart out
|
| And gave it to my valentine
|
| And gave a line to that little bitch from Madeline
|
| Bitches be them setup artists
|
| Now I lay that
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| pine with nines
|
| Pop my piece like peels
|
| I got a jagged spine
|
| So I sound like Jack Burton
|
| How I drag my lines
|
| All the smokers in Seattle hella mad I rhyme
|
| Cause we were servin' Fraggle Rock
|
| Some Big Apple time
|
| Hmm, I heard that city never sleeps
|
| Well, my city always rains
|
| And it’s full of fucking creeps
|
| Nominated Nacho P
|
| To be the one that fuckin' speaks
|
| Hella freaks, couple geeks
|
| Then that OG Kush that reeks
|
| I bought the first mixtape
|
| Won’t help me escape poverty
|
| So I did 'em six deep
|
| Plottin' armed robbery
|
| Should be in the Bahamas
|
| Gettin' slobbed by Rihanna, G
|
| Instead, I’m in the 'Bush
|
| Hungry, plottin' to? |
| money
|
| Motivate these crooks
|
| This life is a tug-o-war
|
| Just shook my sword over books
|
| With that unbeheading arm
|
| And this Gat, guarantee you fall
|
| Like this dress on a ho
|
| Hoes undressing it all
|
| ? |
| on her dress and draw
|
| Motherfucker, I’m raw
|
| I’m trained to kill
|
| My aim is real
|
| ? |
| spills
|
| I paid attention
|
| Now I pays the bills
|
| Mommy, I’m sorry
|
| I can’t protect my motives
|
| Nobody told me different
|
| Now I’m off the hinges
|
| The doorway into my own existence
|
| Spit it like retarded do
|
| The impoverish genuine article
|
| Spark your brain particles
|
| While I proceed to startle you
|
| Often, I get it on with you
|
| Niggas, what is wrong with you
|
| Bitches, don’t carry bras with you
|
| Zombies beat the remarkable
|
| Red herring, leave no clues
|
| I’m that smooth
|
| I’m that daring
|
| Walk down your block in no shoes
|
| Just one Glock, will not lose
|
| Your actions are bitch moves 'gainst the pistol
|
| Don’t bite the head
|
| I love it when she grab my balls
|
| She slurpin' while I chill
|
| Your style played out
|
| Like this can of open beer
|
| Wash it down with a thought
|
| We the hottest
|
| Fuck them niggas hatin' on New York
|
| Zombie niggas food for thought |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Tomorrow's Gone , by - Mr. Muthafuckin' eXquire. Song from the album Kismet, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп