a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

letra de bumpy bring it home - freddie foxxx

ayo, turn the, turn the music up some more
in the headphones for me
check it out [c’mon!]
you ready, it’s b-mpy knuckles baby
sendin this out to my n-gg-s
all them hardcore street corner, wilders
ha, ha, freddie foxxx baby
that’s right, diamond d baby

[verse 1]
whoever thought that i’d be mr. lyrical flows nice
like sunsets on the rio grande
grantin after sisters checkin out they can can
my lyrical ability keeps them real n-gg-s
that listen to hip hop feelin me
i keep it underground, sound’s a buck china
even in j-pan they know, i’m the ultimate
spit at me verse, like it’s my last one
slow ones, fast ones, i blast past the fake -ss ones
you see, i don’t think no n-gg-‘s nicer than me
i’m not conceited, that’s how i read it, these n-gg-s heated
i dissect your verses like science cl-ss frogs
i see your rap records is swine, like hogs
now cipher, that’s like turnin down janet for mich-lle pfeiffer
see freddie foxxx ain’t wit that
my sh-t is hotter than cayenne pepper, the mic wrecker
the lethal weapon, i keep you high steppin
it’s not my fault that n-gg-s listen to me
and wanna rob sh-t, ’cause i do my motherf-ckin job kid
if you a thug then you recognize what you see before you
eyes and ears said freddie foxxx is here
i been waitin it, doin it, sayin it
rollin by my motherf-ckin self with my burner c-cked slayin it
and i ain’t seen nothing that could make me believe
there’s a n-gg- rappin liver than me, you feel me

hook 2x: billy danze
you in a cl-ss of your own, b-mpy’s in the zone
leave b-mpy alone! b-mpy get it on
bumpy spit chrome, b-mpy hold a throne
now, b-mpy bring it home!

[verse 2]
i wear rolex watches and alligator shoes
where n-gg-s thought devil jeans was the big news
i had fifty miles on my brand new benz in ’89
when you wanted me to critique your rhyme
it just was all right
n-gg-s brought rappers to me, for approval
now i give you sixteen bars, for removal
i punch you in your temple make you stagger like yeltsin
over hand right to the brain is what you felt son
then i take off my belt son
show you what a whippin is, what a true real mic rippin is
you fake n-gg-s can’t make it hard for real n-gg-s ’cause
there’s no defense for the truth so what the deal n-gg-
no matter who tell it, real n-gg-s always prevail
just like a fake n-gg- always fail
n-gg-s livin in a fairy tale, until they get beef
then he want peace, b-tch, you just a rap p-ssy
you comin just a lyrical lunatic
i make it blacker than midnight at 12 o’clock noon and sh-t
i keep rollin like the black navi with them micky thompsons
halogen lights, i keep my flow tight
the new b-mpy sh-t is like the new jordans when they come out
got emcees rappin wit they gun out
memorize lyrics and i spit ’em to the needy
send love to my n-gg- tweety, and can you feel me

hook

[verse 3]
i treat ’em like real stick up kids is the dark alley
what’s slick rick, it’s the ballies
with played out new york n-gg-s it’s ticali
runnin from the i’ll sh-t
i do what record labels don’t like, the real sh-t
money is energy, i’m hyped up
step on stage with that bullsh-t, get hair wiped up
i be up in your crib, with my two black sigs in your ribs
takin everything you got to give
the black robin hood i rock for n-gg-s that can’t afford rolies
ride around and in tagged up stolies
i keep the truth like the holy qu’ran
here’s a game plan, ambush, best attack, hit off my man
i make you n-gg-s listen to some lyrical sh-t
some miracle sh-t, some empirical sh-t
now i’m in flipmode, i got my gun in your brain
and make you run you ch ch ch cha ch ch ch cha chain
bumpy plays no games, it’s all real here
can’t get my gun in the club, i keep it real near
i’m harder than a bulletproof vest wrapped around a steel pole
six shots all through your body like real soul
james brown or the meters
i’m gunnin for you no talent rap style eaters
when diamond d blessed me i had to come rugged
or unplug it, only true thugs can f-ck sh-t

hook

- freddie foxxx

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS