Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Blood, Sweat & Gears , by - The Alchemist. Release date: 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 |