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 scape goats - ransom

[intro: 38 spesh]
it’s the mother f-cking trust huh
yeah
huh
ayo

[verse 1: ransom & 38 spesh]
i go to war in beast mode
extended clip on a 44 is a cheat code
i get bread and get head from freak hoes
but don’t sleep in the bed with em, like they my street clothes
let’s reload you can’t be a renegade with a weak soul
you’ll die without a reasonable doubt for trying to repeat hov
he said he wanna rob my line, for some kilos
i’m shooting behind my line like free throws
what we chose an elaborate enterprise to incentivize
no genocide, i’m dirty as puff when he pushed jen aside
defend your pride you see my shine popping off in the night club
excite thugs, but numbers don’t lie women and men’ll lie
you been advised and i don’t mince words much i deserve such
summertime preparing for winter getting my furs fluffed, you heard what
they said cocaine was my first crush
every time i break a brick i get a surplus (trust)
been locked since a shorty
can’t be my man running with n-ggas that’s not for me (huh)
before you get popped with this 40
i ask is you dying with the op like naughty (huh)
my life is a top story
i throw a rat from the window of the top story
i don’t just grab one brick i cop 40
if it’s five of y’all on one brick that’s a block party
what you got for me i aim for your soul but i am not tory
i stop glory i squeeze i ain’t even freeze when the cops caught me
let’s not bore me
i been a drink champ before the ink stamp
these bullets interrupt when you speaking, i call them shots nore
you not horry
this ain’t game six and you’re not a big shot
you probably picked locks, sold some weed in your mama’s ziplocs
n-gga kick rocks
i’m known for sparring
pay in full or bury your bones in harlem
they don’t feed us n-gga we supposed to part em
[verse 2: ransom & che noir]
smoke the stardom a fast thinker just made me slow to karma
i paint a canvas with weapons it’s like a poem for artists
erase n-ggas when it’s lead at ya
bloodshed after done turned funerals to a met gala
request rappers for torture i leave you tied and crooked
the taste of blood on my fingers that’s when it’s time to cook it
right when you starving for death, that’s when i’m hyped to pull it
russian roulette i serve to these rappers told em bite the bullet
queen, they barely gon toe the line but i like to push it
scarred face, getto boys, stacking bills bout the height of bushwick
you was never man enough
them tales of your prison stints and the grams you cut
ever seen a dope fiend die while he standing up
you scamming us
there’s no back and forth in front of the cameras
you question me, it’ll be the look in my eye that’ll answer ya
tarantula, got eight arms on me no long story
that’s for amateurs i got a small army if y’all harm me
i talk godly was a kid played on porches with small barbies
surrounded by shooters that’s resembling bob marley
you ever seen a fiend die while watching from your porch
but they ain’t know he was dead so they still was talking to his corpse
i wrote classics, spoke with passion with no practice
the poems i’m rapping be the reason i’m gold status
sold tactics cut from a cloth that’s too old fashioned
with body language you can’t understand with a closed caption

- ransom

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS