Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Land of Lords, artist - The Underachievers. Album song Indigoism, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 18.07.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: RPM MSC
Song language: English
Land of Lords |
Raised in Flatbush, born in Brooklyn |
The Beast Coast with us, catch ghost when flow stutters |
Like cobras, soul lift, I strode the block no chauffeur |
Coast to coast the same shit, I’m that focused |
Hold up, Brooklyn they say fronto that’s how we roll up |
Fuck you dumbos tryna blunt smoke with no funds |
Throw on aroma, sour diesel, higher than my ego |
She know, hold a bitch closer than my pesos, you lay ho |
Bank rolls be my occupation for the moment |
Elevated, overthrow the government, you know we on it |
Higher minds, fire burning, I don’t care what you concern with LSD |
On the DV, check the KD floating |
I know you peep the steez, golden like I’m chosen |
Js leave 'em Z way before the Barclay center open |
You hoping, I crash this plane, never man |
I’m in the legendary lane, hitting Jane like Tarzan |
Pick it up where my brother left it off |
Purple drunk, sour diesel be the fuel for all my Brooklyn lords |
(Brooklyn lords, theres no control, you niggas lame, I’m going hard) |
Living large, watch out for coppers, you know they makin' noise |
Flatbush grown, raised around shottas |
We Rastafari Boys, Jah Jah knows, been out the matrix since like a snotty nose |
Switching flows like a Brooklyn nigga only supposed to though |
I count my pesos, I let my brain grow |
Watch out for my angels, cuz they stealin' my halo, know they hate though |
It’s cause we clean on the block, living dreams on the clock |
Keep the weed 'round my team, so we lean in the spot |
The Beast Coast we better than most folks |
And no hope for niggas that be testing our brain growth, you get smoked |
Like my herbal shuttles, run to be the sun child |
Can’t walk a mile in my shoes cause we run that Brookline |
You get it? |
We bringing change, motherfuck your gain fame |
I don’t need your damn approval, gotta claim my name |
You niggas fucking shooters, we the matches of this game |
So take a seat nigga, and let a God teach nigga |
Don’t wanna pro preach with you, but watch out for soul killers |
Elevate your mind, and don’t listen to no sinners |
No sinners, no friend of me |
Spray em, they all enemies, sight |
I grip your life, don’t get the grip, just fist fight |
Knuckle up, fuck happen' and scrappin' |
Niggas ain’t tough enough for the bust a slug |
Then show a brother love, that’s why you can’t fuck with us |
Ah, I remember them hoop dreams |
Thought I was the one like high king |
Jump shot me, 'til a nigga hit a pot steam |
Then a nigga drop rock like a fiend |
That two train, till the last stop that man block |
Man shots, 10 pun the way to the pop-pop what the blood clot? |
(Hey, Tan Boys, World’s Fair, Zombies, Pro Era, A$AP |
New York, New York, that’s where it’s at, where it’s at) |
We the new New York, better protect your neck |
When you’re looking at the god, take another step back |
Cause we soaring, while niggas just boring, see me touring |
A nigga been chosen to elevate most men, 'til we golden |
And count my cheddar, that’s of course |
Cause my bitch she wants a horse |
But I mind just say for fuck it and go cop that shit call Porsche |
My mama want a crib, I said my motherfucker called |
You raised a fuckin' demon child, really paid the cost |
The cause is paid, 'til we said squeeze lemonades |
Flatbush, Brooklyn, where the fuck I’m gonna stay? |
And I be chillin' with my villains climbin' on the fuckin millions |
And blowin on the loud 'til a nigga touch the ceiling, uh huh |
That’s the end of the song, and nigga know me can do no wrong |
Bodying tracks, your bitch in the back of the Cadillac, now you know all this |
shit |