Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Sims Jong Il, artist - Sims. Album song Field Notes, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 01.09.2014
Record label: Doomtree
Song language: English
Sims Jong Il |
| Well I stepped up my cleats on |
| And that chin music is my theme song |
| That brush off, that write off, I just use that as a deduction |
| That mean mugging don’t mean nothing (fuck this sh-) |
| Hold the line, I play the whole 9 |
| I steal second, I scrape for mine |
| You can take the signs or you can pay no mind |
| I’m on the verge, hold the sermon |
| Like I told the purists, if I played it safe I would’ve sold insurance |
| So I kill it 'til it’s dead, till it 'til it grows |
| Get it on the road then tour it 'til it’s old |
| Like any good crow I never tip toe around a motherfucking straw man |
| Make me like amen, or god damn, or something |
| Like money for nothing |
| In common |
| I came up on ramen |
| Nine of us and we’re lining up |
| And you must be high on that diamond dust |
| Now I’m grinding out until my time is up |
| I didn’t come to play games, man I came to win |
| I get it in then I’m in the wind and I ain’t no average citizen |
| I ain’t living in that bitter end |
| I come to stack my dividends and then bounce |
| I am the chem trail in your easy mac |
| Sims Jong Il to all you Tumbl’ing amnesiacs |
| Faking funk and celiacs |
| Got me out here feeling old on my Holden Caulfield calling phony |
| I’m from the land of Uncle Ole’s yelling fuck the police |
| Axel Foley your magic kingdom, leave a mess on your linoleum |
| In the kitchen with a downgraded Pluto enriching Plutonium |
| These molly poppers went too based, looking Rob Ford |
| That ain’t flavor that’s Kool Aid, you’re skating on a long board |
| I’m taking shots singing C-Murder until I wind up on the floor |
| Then I’m Hasselhoffing this cheeseburger, call you up around four |
| I’m Nick Caging this Vegas, I’m lighting up these stages |
| They say baseless shit to get famous, they’re Jim Rome, they’re Skip Bayless |
| Sunglasses and bail money, my cunning and my homies |
| We’re running, we’re hungry, you stay praying on some pony |
| Stay blue Lonely Boy, southsider, outlier, the gasoline to your house fire |
| And I ride this shit 'til there are no tires |
| I didn’t come to play games, man I came to win |
| I get it in then I’m in the wind and I ain’t no average citizen |
| I ain’t living in that bitter end |
| I come to stack my dividends and then bounce |