Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fresh, artist - Specifics. Album song II, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 06.09.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Think Twice
Song language: English
Fresh |
Intro: Golden Boy |
Yeah, fuckin up, yo, not enough, spark a bagel |
Verse 1: Golden Boy |
It’s the rougher, rhymer slash hustler subscriber |
I stumble from under covers to plain clothes by the |
Time most other folks luncheon |
My line of work don’t require nothing like punching |
The clock, I talk right off top, mic’ed, on topic or all live |
I’m trying to find a spot in the tropic |
Come off it, nah truly |
Yo this shit is like rap video shoot without the total treats |
Unique the way he rips any kind of paper |
Do his duty to confine the data from a faker |
Plagiarizer please take a skydeezy from a scraper |
I’m fiending for the cherry vapor |
Very high |
Carry my merry men to the airy sky valkyries prepare to die |
Or however you pronounce it, I’ve been in areas with hairy ounces |
Buried into coffee grounds |
When he go to get a cup of joe, get astounded |
Think I seen a pound of green in the Folger’s brown |
So you found it, better go to town and start breaking up |
I’m saying son, baking is the best park of waking up |
Hook: Golden Boy |
Yo, yo, yo, yo, the business |
Need to ship it, dip it in some Folger’s |
Even the most cultured doberman couldn’t sniff it |
They missed it |
Well heck, I’m liking this system |
Smells fresh, exciting |
It’s so exciting to me |
Verse 2: Coates |
Yo two seven percent forties are the Irish jetpacks |
And my incredible hulk innards will fight setbacks |
Mount really where cold winters are froze stiller |
Icicles in his speech homie I’m mad chiller |
When he cam to the fork in the road, headed straight to the space whip |
Birds eye view of the prose, rhymes like a lightbulb with no switch |
Scratch every January holding no chips |
Puffy coates is a herbalist on a mission to make weed immediately |
Thought he was a journalist, so blitzed |
Must have put the stash in the Folgers |
Supernova sighting on the couch in a coma |
If I don’t get some fuckin vitamin d sippin the grey sky |
Heineken where is the sky hiding it |
And for the dust on my mpc let’s make em envy |
Hook: Golden Boy |
Yo, yo, yo, yo, the business |
Need to ship it, dip it in some Folger’s |
Even the most cultured doberman couldn’t sniff it |
They missed it |
Well heck, I’m liking this system |
Smells fresh, exciting |
It’s so exciting to me |
Verse 3: Golden Boy |
Sunset rider train level boss pistol dueling |
Slick rolling dive behind boxes while I’m shooting |
Both hands drooling, fat yellow slugs slow movement |
Laid back coolin on the track metal slug music |
Batter up for X Factor, who’s in it for the cheddar only when they need to use |
it |
And which crew’s got my back now from the ruthless |
Ruin of the stackhound |
Boot it up the cut with the cracked valves cooing |
Sounding like cats and the raccoons scrapping out back of old shacks on the |
mountain |
Cut me slack or be found in the fountain |
Let the track breathe |
Get to howling |
Let the track breathe |
Get to howling |
Hook: Golden Boy |
Yo, yo, yo, yo, the business |
Need to ship it, dip it in some Folger’s |
Even the most cultured doberman couldn’t sniff it |
They missed it |
Well heck, I’m liking this system |
Smells fresh, exciting |
It’s so exciting to me |