Текст песни SPM - Dope Game

Screwston Vol.5: Purple Rain
Жанр: Rap
Исполнитель: SPM
Альбом: Screwston Vol.5: Purple Rain
Длительность: 05:44
Рейтинг: 299
MP3: Скачать
Загрузил: Partizan


Check one, check two, lets take a cruise I done did the game every which way but loose Nothing left to do except collect my cash And I bet that ass that the Mex gon' last Put the past on paper, threw away my pager Cuz these boys keep callin from locs to cookie baker Mama saved em from the hate, now I'm hard with the pain I'm in the place in your face tryin to sell you a tape I break records in Texas creepin in Caddies and Benzes And a pretender if he step up to the bullet bartender I bet I check and wreck a sucker riding bumper to bumper I might dump the whole clip and miss and hit your uncle I ain't trippin, flippin, sippin on purple Lipton Diggin women in the drop lemon, g livin I was driven to my last nerve, hittin curbs Puttin twenties on a grass hurst End of verse [Chorus x2] No shame Welcome to the dope game This is where we don't play Leave your boys with no brains Whoridas I remember long ago I never got no love Still I knew that one day I'd be popular I used to stand in the circle trying to smoke your bud Just hopin that the blunt wouldn't pass me up I used to ask for a sip of your syrup I used to never walk around with the white cup Now I eat eighteen steaks, on silver plates Girls fanin my face, others give me grapes By the grace of God, I was given the job To run through the rap game like corn on the cob So blessed in my test, I bought my sets in the southwest I ain't got no credit cards except Mexican Express I'ma dress my baby girl and rock the whole damn world If you needs tracks Happy P got my referal Your head twirl to the sounds of the SP Mex Ridin in the Lex with a dog named Plex Southside to the north, at the old golf course The valet the white Porsche with the bulletproof doors [Chorus x2] It's the L-O-S C-O-Y Pack the pistola, oh me oh my My nina shine like the sun, I never ask for a crumb For breakfast my chef makes me eggs-fuyon I've come from the hills of ghetto thrills and chills Three wheelin, dope dealin, killin nothin but squeels My third wish was to break this curse and myth Now I'm worldwide status on your satilite dish Punk checker, chump wrecker, got the salt and the pepper Left a mark in the game and never been a half stepper Leopard skin on my couch, be like Oscar the Grouch From the streets, pullin rocks out my kangaroo pouch But I told these boys, never at my house Whether it's the ounce that puts leather on my couch A thousand dollars a week, my baby girl's allowance Dope House bouncin cash to my forgein accounts [Chorus x2]
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