Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Make It Home, artist - SpitfiyaDate of issue: 02.02.2004
Song language: English
Make It Home |
| I ain’t in to fat lippin, I’m in to gat grippin |
| A cat’s slippin, is a cat drippin |
| Why I say that? |
| the cat’s slippin, the Mac’s spittin |
| The cat drippin, look in the mirror you’s a fat kitten |
| Puuusssssssssssssyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy-ah |
| All I wanted growing up was remote controls |
| Now my whole life remote control, hit the block dope control |
| Got ghetto corners choking slow |
| Grandmama go to church trying to soak my soul, oh! |
| This one’s for my foes |
| Find yourself, in a hopeless hole trying to go against him! |
| I puppet you Pinocchios, flows on strings |
| It — is what it seems, just call me Jepeto! |
| A Young Stock Market, put money in your pocket |
| Cause when Pusha talk it is the object then I drop it I rose gold ya, huh? |
| pink diamond ya, hah? |
| Set it in a rhyme now the industry got pink eye |
| Contagious, flows high demand, like the new Lou Vuitton Monogram |
| Pastels is cute; |
| How you niggaz follow suits so well? |
| These barrels encompass the heat from +Hell+ |
| Nigga the Franchise of Star Trak sales, uh! |
| They’d rather see me not breathing, than see me achieve |
| Have my mama grieving, crouched to her knees |
| Jealous hearted niggaz, y’all wear it on ya sleeve |
| Like a scarlet letter, for the world to see |
| Can’t hide the truth, decendents of pain |
| So y’all get exposed like the sons of Hussein |
| My game weight grown, this is no fact |
| When cats was at hoop, I was Cadillac Brome |
| I’m not these rap kids, wit childish antics |
| Who make diss records, who rock hat backwards |
| These are higher stakes, this is not average weight |
| This is not pinching penny’s bitch, this is carrot cake |
| This is the difference 'tween rookies and the pros |
| They pattern after me, they cookie-cut my flow |
| But so (so, so), I’m never one that be jeal' |
| Do as I do so I can say, Papa raised you well |
| They say the Lord closes windows, to open doors |
| Nigga don’t make me open yours |
| Seen hearts beat through, open sores |
| Subliminal rap shit, so immature, that’s why I ignore |
| Punchline niggaz on front time, silly hoe shit |
| He who questions I is unfocused |
| Copperfield flow yes! |
| I’ll make careers disappear |
| Like hocus — pocus — no joke, it’s Push' |
| Mercy, mercy! |
| Oh Lord who is he? |
| Who curse me, curse me? |
| But doing me It hurts me so, puts me through changes |
| So I got Porsche’s and Hummers to deal wit the anguish (oh, oh!) |
| Acts live, but only if you speak the language |
| …And the rest is Comic View |
| Star Trak The Movement, who you pay homage to? |
| You don’t want it with them boys, this I promise you, you pussy! |