day The eighth day The eighth day Pure white heat and blood of sands Two clouds of crimson mists are swirling round and round On the eighth day Pools
on dranks) Girl wanna holla tryin' to run that game (that game) I just wanna freak that ain't got no shame (no shame) (Baby Bash) I'ma blast off like a damn
Still laughing and tripping still having the bitches I'm rapping now reminiscing and god damn it we did it From trapping standing and pitching with rich we stand in the kitchen Splitting it eight
boulevard, all day long Gots to get paid, in this damn rap game Gotta get my feddy, gotta get my change Me and my partna P-Roy, doing it every day in
An old man turned ninety-eight He won the lottery and died the next day It's a black fly in your Chardonnay It's a death row pardon two minutes too
An old man turned ninety-eight He won the lottery and died the next day It's a black fly in your Chardonnay It's a death row pardon two minutes too late
and a suite Two toned everything a nigga see Burnin' rubber in these motherfuckin' streets Made man, ol' head taught me Like father, like son we a G Sixty-four seventy-eight
it Niggas gonna pay on the day that I spot him Toss him in the trunk of the Caddy On the way to the rodeo, killing all carbon copies I'll be damned if
that then I gradually graduate Too a harder perscription drug called valium like ya that's great I go to take just one and I end up like having eight
Key, Paved The Way So Lately, My Stakes Get Better Each Day Replay My Relay Race, When I Was Chasin The Afee At Eighteen Eight Years Later His Voice
The Club Doing My Two Steps I Done Pulled About Eight Broads Already I'm Just Getting My Feet Wet (Damn) But I Ain't Even Knocking Your Style See I Be Here All Day
nigga! He got another album on the board?" Damn right, another album on the board Fuck the bullshit, the Figgarali don't play I represent the whole Bay every motherfuckin day
it wasn't for them, you wouldn't be out here now And I ain't comin' at you with no disrespect All I'm sayin' is that you damn well got to be correct
Turn on channel seven at a quarter to eight You see the same damn thing it's just a different day and No one really knows why this is happening But it
, next city, oh great, off day Hangovers, hangups, dialbacks, running make up, apologies and promises And nobody acknowledges that boys in bands got it so damn
skeet spits I gives a fuck whos drunk and fuckin at the grammy's Loco breakin up or too fuckin skinny Lil kids walking home mad miles a day 'cause they