Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Over Here, artist - Tash. Album song Publicity Stunt, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 13.07.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Sterling World
Song language: English
Over Here |
| I make this shit look easy nigga |
| Y’know? |
| Yeah, uhh, look |
| I make this rap shit look easy so fuck a rocket scientist |
| Just tables and a mic and Tash’ll rock them old appliances |
| Alliances was formed in California, swarmin |
| The West coast is back so it’s finally dawnin on 'em |
| The West coast ain’t went nowhere but up the street |
| To get a half ounce of kush, a couple bitches and the heat |
| Freaky-Ric (k)y be the system, cause my style is extra popular |
| Your girl think it’s sexy when I’m drinkin beer on top of her |
| Crazy as a baby but the grown CaTash get it |
| J-Ro and King Tee we represent the click Likwit |
| I would fix it if it’s broke but we far from broke homey |
| Above the law so the cops can’t plant no coke on me |
| Only way to stop CaTash is, jump out the bushes |
| Or snipe me through a window while I put away the dishes |
| But that’ll never happen, I’mma dyin at this rappin |
| You won’t make it to your car before the straps start to clappin |
| You know how we get down («Kick it over here») |
| We show no fear, that’s how we («Kick it over here») |
| You might wanna visit and («Kick it over here») |
| But then you disappear, cause it’s amped over here |
| Yeah, that’s just how we do it round here |
| You might wanna show up and («Kick it over here») |
| West coast 'bout to blow up, you scared call the cops |
| All hell breaks loose when we («Mmmm, DROP!») |
| I drove in with a few rowdy friends, new body Benz |
| King Jaffe ends, my rims don’t spin |
| I’m the type of nigga had it poppin in the pen |
| You the type of nigga I was sockin in the chin |
| But look I bought the bar then, 'gnac and gin |
| Gran Marnier, nigga mixed with Henn |
| The King ain’t trippin cause I just don’t grin |
| My crew ain’t snitchin dog, they just don’t bend |
| So, don’t stress, doja, straight to the chest |
| Now hold it, get loaded |
| I’m the bomb young stunna, that old new old school dude |
| 88, fin' to «Act a Fool» |
| And your boy been ballin, nigga been brawlin |
| Nigga been haulin, nigga been lordin |
| Terrorize set by section, Tha Liks’ll make a killin |
| They mention King Tee’s in the building? |
| Alkaholiks hold the title, real American Idols |
| No chance for survival for the Likwit rivals |
| Lookin at my timepiece, it’s about to hit noon |
| And I just kicked a dimepiece up outta my room |
| And it’s been a couple minutes and I’m gettin lonely |
| I need another Cali-rony who only smokes the stony |
| Green like green tea, I sip the Likwit |
| Alkaholiks in the house, y’all punks evicted |
| Go get folded up like the cuff in my jeans |
| Ever since I was a teen, I made music for the fiends |
| Y’all make music for the mentally lean |
| In the land of the blind, the one-eyes man is king |
| J-Ro flow is tropical, scientifical, topical |
| I read a whole novel while I’m puffin an optimo |
| California carnivore, wild as a wild boar |
| We’ll do an album, pick a tour, while you hangin at the liquor store |