| I would like to
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| Welcome everybody to
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| Another episode of
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| A man and his plants
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| Strike up the band (Yeah)
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| Smack up your man (Yeah)
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| Stack up the bands, all glory to God (God?)
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| All glory to me (Yeah)
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| Bitch, I ain’t Chance, a man and his plants
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| Corduroy pants
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| Now I’m so grown
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| I was so sick of American livin', I pack up my shit, disappear and I’m gone
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| I assassin down that avenue, thinkin' revenue
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| Fingernails filthy from that cocaine residue
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| Who am I supposed to be? |
| What am I supposed to do?
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| If you came up in that murder murder, you would feel me too
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| Bulletproof vest when I ride (Ride)
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| Long dark hair, brown eyes (Eyes)
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| And the bullshit I survived
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| Made me so cold inside
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| So I turn up the heat and start bustin'
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| A Pisces, I’m sent to the thuggin' (Yeah)
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| And you can’t back up all the shit that you talk
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| But I can, you bitches not nothin', yeah
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| So bring in the horns, the Devil reborn
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| I was broken and torn, in love with the porn
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| In love with the flesh, I look good in the mesh
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| And leather and lace, groove with the murderin' pace
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| Ending the early debates like Future who movin' the bass
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| Smokin' these crates, I did it with gentleman’s grace
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| Give me the space to grow
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| Lettin' you know that I’m in the zone
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| Oh, you stackin' some bread like it’s Jenga?
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| Now I’m a latin pop singer (Yeah)
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| My girl and my attitude meaner, huh
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| Had to switch up my demeanor, two facin' like Harvey Dent
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| You bent out of shape, I came out the gate with a rage
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| All I be seein' these days, I’ve psychiced empires with blood on their hands
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| and their fangs, look
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| If you — think you — drainin' - me of — energy, you not
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| I got — silver — bullets — loaded — up
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| Every — liquid — shot, yeah
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| Windows so big in my crib, my hope feel like a solar flare
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| My aura beams are gold, I swear, stashed the drugs in tupperware
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| Dancin' in the underwear, then bowin' some reggaeton
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| Used to drink the wine alone in my solitary zone
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| No Nirvana, a latin americana, got a thing for speaking spanglish,
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| pero no entiendes nada
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| Why even bother? |
| Communication just killed us now
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| They used to sleep on us, but oh, they feel us now
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| I need to feel you now
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| Need to feel you now
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| Need to feel you now
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| Strike up the band (Yeah)
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| Smack up your man (Yeah)
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| Stack up the bands, all glory to God (God?)
|
| All glory to me (Yeah)
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| Bitch, I ain’t Chance, a man and his plants
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| Corduroy pants
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| Now I’m so grown
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| I was so sick of American livin', I pack up my shit, just appear and I’m gone |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song This Mexican (American) Life , by - Speak. Song from the album A Man + His Plants, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп