Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Blood, Sweat & Gears, artist - The Alchemist.
Date of issue: 20.05.2021
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Blood, Sweat & Gears |
Take this opportunity to roll up |
Locate your lighters |
Laced, David Robinson’s wiling my consents |
Mad black paint polish rims |
Fuck you said I ain’t hear it clear |
Too much money talking in my ear |
The end result of two albums in one year |
Blood sweat and gears |
Life in between the racing stripes |
We break day and night |
Alternative lifestyle |
I ain’t looking for her pussy boy |
This trill jet shit, just enjoy |
That’s yo wifey but she still a jet miss |
Give her direction to the tele and a check list |
Arriving shortly with the items I requested |
Reinforce the frame with that Jive nigga repellin my new plane |
Maintain the smoke |
Let ya take a couple grams home if you my folk |
I’ll buy you a little something |
Light the weed man though |
But if you give me 15 minutes I’ll call my folks he get the dough |
Connecting four, marine batteries on the side of my trunk |
To go with them other four batteries that piling the pumps |
It’s the juice and them cylinders that make the chevy jump |
You already know ain’t gotta tell ya bout it partner |
Yo bitch stay talkin and you steady eavesdropping |
Rolling trees can do something for you |
No matter what you be goin through |
Execution flow |
Ten thousand grams of potassium |
Streets I roam, Mama praying like the Vatican |
My life feels like trade water in the ocean |
Who’s standing in |
I’m dopes up moving drug trafficking |
Tell her get dough I’m getting fat again |
What I do to get my love warm, laugh again |
Say love don’t give me your mouth again |
Got to move it, later on you’ll be acting them |
Life is like free throws |
Some things ya gone miss |
Some things ya make |
Don’t rush, don’t wait |
I call pape time travel machine |
It can get ya there faster but it can’t wake a permanent sleep |
I never compromise my fresh |
Smoke kush not cess |
Why cry I’m blessed |
Aw lend me the bail out |
The ones I call my ten dogs in a jail house |
Jets smoking in the club on tour |
Born in New Orleans all new friends bonjour |
I’m general building, international jones |
And Louie scarfs down there smoking one with the homies |
Walls full of vinyl |
All bars are final |
Leather is your wrists first name, not Lionel |
International jones |
Curren$y the spitta |
Alchemist my nigga |
Tell them ladies go figure |