Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bears Like This, artist - Spillage Village. Album song Bears Like This, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 02.06.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Spillage Village
Song language: English
Bears Like This |
Funny I see everything with my eyes closed |
Inside my dome, I open up and see some blind souls |
I take a sip of Henny, fifth, light up a white boy |
I never trip, 'cause every slip-up makes my mind grow |
That’s fasho |
Earned another stripe, bein' real today |
I must be a zebra, or a cheetah, speeding to my prey, okay |
When you come into my kingdom (Yeah, uh), I’m predator, you’re prey, okay, okay |
Yeah |
I woke up to a fat ass booty today |
I’ll prolly roll a fat ass doobie today |
Signed the boobie of a groupie today |
Cartoon, Rocket Power on the beach, like a shoobee |
Prolly cop a tool before I leave |
For my moms, she’s just enjoyin' the breeze |
She read the Psalms, my songs ain’t ready to hit her ears yet |
And if I ever disappoint her, yeah I fear that |
So I’mma keep writin' until my words ready for that angel to hear that |
Oh Lo-, oh Lord speak to me, I need every sentence |
Every word show me that I am walking and how you live it |
I’m tryin', it’s kinda different |
I hope I don’t get it wrong |
But the missions never impossible |
When the J in J-I-D's for James Bond |
From the heavens, stretch them long arms |
I say I promise I won’t stray |
He replies, «Why the tie?» |
On the tip, |
I got your whole family |
And your bruhs like Joe Batman and Jerry Shamlee |
And my niggas be hurtin', we go back like the four Horsemen |
And I’ve always been the shortest |
But cooler than a polar bear’s toes or some eskimo’s fortress |
Never forget the past, but the futures on the rise like a forklift |
Then I’ll prolly stop smokin' and get up off this porch, shit |
You know they make it hard to get healthy |
If you ain’t ballin', can’t support shit |
And that shit’s unfortunate |
They kill off the poor and the minorities |
They tryna get us put in the morgue |
Oh shit |
Then done let a nigga in |
They finally see the light like Mr. Benjamin |
Get high praise like my light-skinned woman friends |
I mix this Henn' up with the juice, I hope she let me hit again |
Look, I know you go to church, but tell me when you tryna sin |
Give into your temptations, quick, the sun’s risin' |
My cup run is over, I am capsizin' |
Hey, we can meet when it’s over, then I reconvene with my soldiers |
And plot to infiltrate the culture, our weapons is out the holster |
So you laugh and click clack, sit back, and watch what happen |
It’s either divine intervention, hieroglyphs or mathematics |
But you can’t say we ain’t warned you bastards |
You see the signs, there’s niggas out throwin' their lives away |
What happened to our women now, they either bi or gay |
How we expect to go farther when bein' brought up with no father |
Play a part in that flip-flop phase |
Ain’t no nigga tryna raise a daughter |
Well shit, I’m tryna raise mine, that’s why I take time |
To cultivate these lines and say what’s on my mind |
Seek until I find, grind until I shine |
Like the gold they traded bodies for, but couldn’t buy their soul |
So that was passed down to me |
And when they talkin' bills now, I turn down two mill' |
And I demand three, I guess I’m demanding |
Go to the wind, don’t blow in my wings, straight up |
Yo, I’m in Wisconsin again, binge drinkin' |
Call the search off, I think I found my bag of weed |
And I’m thinkin' of buyin' this trailer home, for the weekend |
Stash in it with art supplies, paintin' the insides, whatever |
And the outside’s clearly where you fuckin' sleepin' |
Told you nearly yearly that shit gon' take, takin' the shit with the favor |
under my piss |
And it’s great, it’s really great |
I think I can see the, wait |
You see that siren with that bubble butt |
K-pack, a double dutch |
Lay, as I bust her guts |
Late, Trump divin' in designer |
Sport line, and I don’t even know |
I’m ATVin', gettin' mud in the crud of my toes in somebody clothes |
Swamped out the SWAT team, city’s on pigs, neos and nots |
Hopped out the tomb, ugly as 65 and Watts |
We the is, y’all niggas not |
We the biz, y’all niggas sittin' on empty lots |
Stack the straw with my stocks |
And I’m stoned, like a road lot |
Leavin' home with the phone and the Navajo |
Takin' peyote shots to the dome on the lake |
Game fresh, hope they let me on with my lumber long |
Y’all, I know it is, we so hospitable, hit your Twitter bone |
Please don’t let me lose command, I just slept on these bare floors |
Singin' simple songs, back in hippo rumps |
I’m just tryna the best fuckin' me I can be in the long |
Grown with the integers, to all bitches in size |
From long distance, lock eyes at the show |
And after that they all kisses, then my dick |
Long and I’m comin' every strong menace |
And I’m home when I’m finished, look |
And they still play my shit like it’s a day old |
I hope they all think that we made it, low |
I still be thinkin' 'bout flyin' and thinkin' of things like dyin' |
And wakin' up in the middle of some, back at it |
Back workin', fuckin' shit up, memories of honeysuckles |
Every time I think about your girl, my dick turn to a fountain (Ayy) |
Gain the footing, Barney Rubble, man y’all know y’all in trouble (Ayy) |
Yeah |
Where do we come from? |
Drum patterns got me feelin' my roots, undone |
Shallow graves make it easy to return from |
Mankind, same mistakes we tend to learn from |
If this for you, then what’s for me? |
It isn’t true, the victim’s me |
That you can see, but you can bet your last sin that Hell is deep |
Had a falling out |
Loneliness, focused on the creek |
Every other week, pockets on leak, woe is me |
Iris on bleed, it hurts to see pain, then hit the dark |
I park a Rolls on Royce on petty lane, I copped it from scar |
If I don’t give him up for killin' his broad |
Lyin' ass niggas fuckin' it up |
We the metal where the socket is, we poppin' or what |
Zeus be Coppin' from us, Mount Olympus is for peasants, not us |
No, no feathers for us |
Maybe for our father, guardians |
To the day we headed to the heavens from LaGuardia |
Spillage Village to the fuckin' cloggage in my arteries |
Farther than a father’s father be |
I’m well out, like those college classes last semester |
Shit, I fell out, I ain’t finished, but out |
So what I figured I’m 'bout |
I’m 'bout my family, my niggas in doubt |
I think about failure often |
Hit a stage in Austin, break a leg before we tour to Boston |
Fallin' victimless to caution (Uh-huh) |
I take a peek inside my coffin |
Sittin' on my bed, 2:13 A. M |
Scared to go to sleep, too many gruesome three A.M.'s |
Angel at my window, tap, tap, tap, I let her in |
And when I die, she come to live, and the juices start to blend |
Heart eyes, emoji, the smart guy speaks slowly |
And a car ride, with an arsonist, 'cause dark knight’s my homie |
Inside your head’s just the humor of the lonely |
Chew on shroms and just let loose, but don’t let Lucifer control me |
Hope me no confuse you, hope me no eludes you |
The tyrant’s tower crumbles in the presence of a loose screw |
And that just goes to show, you better watch who you let rule you |
No one should have more influence on your life than you do |
Loopy ass nigga, I’m boo boo, coo coo |
And a coup d'état with a group of Zulus, who like to keep the tool handy |
And we staying' on your tongue like blue candy |
And is it just me, or is the industry a little Ku Klux Klanny |
You do drugs like too much, that’s prolly true |
At work, starin' at the wall for like an hour too |
Been a heavy day dreamer, since a child in school |
My pop’s would get up in my face, like, «Boy, what’s wrong with you?» |
Misunderstood genius, it’s such a cliché understatement |
But I say it so that I help y’all kids relate |
And truthfully, without Venus, I wouldn’t be here today |
Was in a real dark place back in the Spring of 2008 |
But I stayed for the return of the thinkin' black man |
Drinkin' Jack Dan, my city ain’t said shit since the age of the snap dance |
And I ain’t bitter 'bout it, I just been about puttin' somethin' a little |
different out |
Spillage Village, how 'bout it? |
Tighter than kangaroo pouches, down to those dangerous objects |
This song recorded on the day Mandela died |
And how you celebrate his life? |
Put one in the air, let your brain get hella fried |
The revolution won’t be televised |