| Yo, yeah yeah, yo what?
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| (Gotta spit on these bitches real quick)
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| Yea, Jammie Sommers bring the thunder, what?
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| (Word up, doo-doo stain bitches)
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| Yo, yo, uh-huh, yo.
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| Yo save John Bennett, trauma John Bell
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| Lace stay in my equality, mic oddessey
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| Judy Plum, ghetto tag on the drum
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| Nestle in the glass, I was plunged, double-edged tongue
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| Pearly handle, police woman scroll Brooklyn, we bouncin, commercial keep lookin
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| Pussy tight ginger, turn rough cats to cringers
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| Make him surrender is car and legal tender
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| Sunshine on time, manifest all time 'tween beams
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| Because I see the true reality, sculpted by my Wallabees
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| Study righteous God Degree, yo.
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| We Break Bread and deal with equality
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| Yo check it, my break and deal with this son
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| Explicit lyrical orgy, you bitches smell like dead foggy ho
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| While Jammie splash you with the bottle of Giorgio
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| Or Chanel’s No. 5, dog bitch you can’t survive
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| You buy and shoot some straw ride, ya tried to glide on B.O.B.B.Y
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| Jammie Sommers, treat her like my daughter, real niggas wanna fuck her
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| Pass a quart of milk, crab, clam, possum, wild flower blossomin
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| Power-U, have you gaspin for your oxygen
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| Gold bra straps, fine pointed, purple star Gaps
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| Cowboy boots and tastle, with the straw hat
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| You derelict hoes, we fuck y’all without pullin down our clothes
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| While your nigga wish to lick Jammie Sommers' toes
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| Imaginate, you best to go home son and masturbate
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| Or put your ten dollars up and buy the fat tape
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| Yo, a hundred thousand, two hundred and fifty cash
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| Yo now, watch Miss Sommers, shake that ass
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| Yo, you love the way my brother splash
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| Chain reaction keep you puzzled
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| Mouth muscle, card shuffle, belt buckle
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| Jammie S’ll never kiss ass after I close a deal
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| You best to believe this rap shit I say is for real
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| A lot of y’all bitches be good earners with two out
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| Take too many chances, chillin with niggas, lampin
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| Profilin, wildin, Jammie hung with the realty smilin
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| Takin shots at Louie the thirteenth, and tie you up
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| Bathed in Sheik, so you could watch your man beat his meat
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| Cuz, uh, lodi dodi, I got the body
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| And tutti fruiti, I got the booty
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| I shake, my rump, all in ya face
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| Make a bitch tie my sneaker lace
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| Cuz A is for Apple and J is for Jack
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| And most of y’all bitches ain’t go no hair in the back
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| And ya tracks is wack |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Break Bread, artist - RZA. Album song Digital Bullet, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп