Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Brooklyn Brawl, artist - Prop Dylan. Album song The Cardinal Sin, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 26.11.2013
Record label: Catapults
Song language: English
Brooklyn Brawl |
| Hey yo ladies, a cargo ball |
| Fingers to keep her pointing 'em |
| The jealousy and greed |
| Please, you’re Nickelodeon’s hot |
| Flip a coin and jump up to see the podium |
| It’s like an opium trip |
| Woah my spit is poisonous |
| Born and bred in the city of chimney smoke clouds |
| So no god, I got down to scribble notes |
| I’m also trip her dosage |
| Different strokes for different folks |
| Solidify the inner growth |
| You apply holes to my lung |
| 'Cause my south-six is golden like shoulder the brawn |
| We got the pros in the corn |
| All this for all nought, it’s all over before long |
| Word is born, though it was yet inadequate |
| We’ll label, let you know |
| Stop playing the devil’s advocate |
| Before and after shit, it’s so wavy |
| It’s like these streets are directed by Scorsese |
| All me, by all means necessary |
| Edged in stone if you walk these cemetaries |
| Flesh and bone, the dirt of a jail |
| So every sinning is felt like you’re wedded in brown |
| Brooklyn brawl and the boiling like cooking oil |
| It’s chess has taking your brooks |
| To lay 'em where the crooks is royal |
| Ain’t cooking to spoil meat |
| But loyal to the bodega |
| The forties right in tomatoes |
| Some cappin' in Las Vegas |
| The product of dope dealers |
| Pocket of dro', nothing my fro' |
| I start to tear with the fort I smoke the clear |
| I’ve got a unity of pepper spray |
| Step away, step at a time |
| You lames getting run over by a Chevrolet |
| Dead man tell no tales |
| But that’s not what the dead don’t say |
| They say run, let them fight another day |
| Pay attention 'cause they whisper in from heaven’s gate |
| Providing you with wisdom and advice before you let it stray |
| Find a better way |
| Why you always thinking that it must be rhyming |
| This shit is bootleg, they call it knocky times |
| Let us pray, let’s split it two ways with Bob Dylan |
| The two was already your 'cause we top billing |
| When we say throw your hands |
| Just protect yo' face |
| Keep that guard up, I ain’t planning to be a slept-on case |
| 'Cause fathers to the style, I respect those greats |
| Those who starving on us now, like they left no trace |
| My name ring bells, hit the hustlers of Charleton |
| If I targeted the mock, you wouldn’t argue my accomplishments |
| Bullets that they awfully dodging like Jacky Robinson |
| Why we keep 'em coming back for more like case Solomon |
| Hit 'em up, hit 'em hard, where your cool at? |
| Why like on us like a news pack |
| Get 'em down to the south, so boom back |
| Like we’re bringing '92 back |
| Get 'em up, get 'em high, where your crew at? |
| Why like on us like a douchebag |
| Get 'em down to the south, so boom back |
| Like we’re bringing '92 back |