Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Renegades , by - Solomon Childs. Release date: 03.03.2022
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Renegades |
| Invasion… like a TJ Hooker or some shit |
| We back again, nigga, shit. |
| see us nigga |
| Staten Island, you see us nigga |
| B-Town… Killa Hill, Staple Town, Jungle Nilz |
| Now Born. |
| check it… |
| Renegade… g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat |
| Renegade… g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat |
| Renegade… g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat |
| Nah… they don’t want problems… |
| I stay sharp, lucky, whips and kicks |
| I stay sharp, lucky, whips and chicks |
| DrugDealer.com, NineMillimeter.com |
| KidnapYourKids.com |
| Solomon Childs, the black rose |
| Potent, product, with bank rolls |
| Boulevard street Godfather, done rows |
| Illegal money like Pete Rose |
| Tongue kissing project centerfolds |
| Your little bitch love when the kid flows |
| Who want it? |
| Who wanna ride for the Super Bowl |
| Grand imperial, after this year, I’mma have the hood ready to ride with me |
| Seriously, you better wanna ride with me |
| I’m beginning to think dudes think I’m a gimmick |
| Run through 'em like Boston in the pennant |
| Burn like gasoline through your fitted |
| Rock mine low, dickies and red |
| I cut a real rasta’s dred |
| You looking at your centerfolds, center piece |
| Mwah, to the death of your chief |
| Tales of the mark 'em home, cook coke game regime |
| He got clientele back in the hood like L.T. |
| and Mitch Green |
| Deal 'em with cake like porno, robberies on police photos |
| Starting to get hated, that’s the way I love it |
| You gon' sleep with a dead hundred, rosery beeds and blunted |
| You ain’t confident with yourself, so how could you want it? |
| Judgment day, torture, game day |
| I peel out your calf with a machet' |
| Hip hop style of Russian roulette |
| Super heavy back, intense like a Mexican bullets at |
| Whether the streets or jail, you gon' witness the metal clap |
| 20th century dragon’s lair, black hood, black blazer |
| Black laser, using potatos for salads |
| To bust the heads of you juicy tomatoes |
| Don’t sway the way I sway, cuz majority bids |
| Sing in front of a crowd like Eric Benett |
| Smell yourself, you fly as the ground, be |
| But you dead, nigga, you already dead, nigga |
| Rough like alligator, you can see a real killer within |
| Look alive muthafucka or get buried alive, muthafucka |
| Master beats, this is music for dudes who wanna up stound |
| Tough guy shit, acting like the hammers ain’t around |
| Born in New York City, with that East Coast attitude, muthafucka |