The music plays... The music plays... The morning sun Lights off my spine. The music plays Plays a distant lullaby. La la la la la la la la la
Traduction: Joueurs Week-end. À travers les arbres.
no stopping us now, my nigga [Freck Billionaire:] Ya clip trip, clip spit Get your strip wet I got the rubber grip Smith and my rich sweats Player haters
he says He get plans for me Get your butt right out of bed - Stop buggin' me Get up and move your sleepy head - Don't shake my tree. He said Mow
says He get plans for me Get your butt right out of bed - Stop buggin' me Get up and move your sleepy head - Don't shake my tree. He said Mow the
200 grams I pump a G-pack, peeping for where the D's at It's slow, lookin for Rambo, the cop who got grazed Back in the days, chasin niggaz through my
, movin as one mind, the genuine Star child, Allah's style, many say their barber's wild When I element the foul, prowl, upon the weekend of sweet I gotta
I can be I'm a star and they should agree Like it's not a normal thing for me to barking up all the trees Bleached jeans, sweet dreams, V neck, TV Play
200 grams I pump a G-pack, peeping for where the D's at It's slow, lookin' for Rambo, the cop who got grazed Back in the days, chasin' niggaz through
try to get away, he says, he got plans for me "Get your butt right out of bed" Stop buggin' me "Get up and move your sleepy head" Don't shake my tree
the horizon at waist level, looking and laughing at a red faced devil. some times I'm Kurt Rambis, sometimes I'm Vincent Gallo. I might as well play
bad like 3 strikers when we spit rhymes And preach to street bikers or convicts in ricers There never ain't no telling what we gonna do 'Cuz when you think we through
wanna ride a train up my lovers arm stop off at the brain to hop out and find out whats goin on cut through trees and ride through rocks synchronize
down Turnt for da weekend turnt for da weekend And we all gettin turnt for da weekend Turnt for da weekend turnt for da weekend And we all gettin turnt for da weekend
on the corner, Stacy Adams never scuffed up So that explains 'bout my daddy and me I mean the apple don't fall too far from the tree I was thirteen,
Now I done seen him before, (Can you remember where at?) Well it was either at the liquor store or laundry mat Or at a party and shit, ?or drive through
hard spot Make me throw my diamonds up, bitch, my life was hard knock Had so much kush and Ciroc, bitch, I think my heart stop Every night's a weekend