'm a type of nigga that smokes mothafuckaz I'm a type of nigga that smokes mothafuckaz I don't give a fuck, fuck, smoke mothafuckaz I'ma smoke mothafuckaz
em with a Mac 11, 2 rifle Pistol, pumps, switch and knives Pistol grips, smoked clips, nighsticks and plyers No myth, I'm him fucka get hypnotized Now get killed in da mist
skeleton in the cemetery [Eightball] Dum, du-du, dum Who got the, who got the bum bu-bu bum? We wrap it up and smoke it, sixty green I'm a fiend for
, wiggy, wiggy) When you buy new tennies do you spend one fifty? (wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy) Do you smoke Swisher Sweets or do you smoke
your boy, Baby beesherelli mane, La Velvet clika, Representin' that yay area dogg, Down South mane, Houston, Texas mane, with my smokin' cousin [SPM] Mister
that s***, smoke it Roll that s***, light that s***, smoke it Roll, roll, roll that s***, light that s***, smoke it Roll that s***, light that s***, smoke
GO!!! Residing pack of goods, smoking nighty-nine were having laughs,and the time of our life to mock the hell yea, life on the road I'll fucking blow
City trips While niggas backin no hood round they lips My team is stackin chips We push the hot whips, keep they kids fed Tight a part mister rest ahead
caps and like Mandela bein' free Not every MC be with the negativity We have a slew of rappers pushin' positivity Hip hop will never die yo, it's all about the rap So Marion Barry smokin
to confess what I've done to be blessed Read the mind of congress, gonna put it to rest Mister John Doe we all know Who you really be, pollutin' the minds of our cities
Radio, check check, video, check check This is how the city folk and mole people connect Somebody warp the message right I'll pass it to the next Now
the sands of the mighty Sahara lies, Buried treasure sunken deep, in darkened tombs where dead men sleep. Gold fills hands, or is it sand, The same that covers everything? Where cities
smoke big dick Mister Richard Smoker You're a velvet coker Bruce and Geoff Will pick you up at ten Goin' out, dancin' in the city Friday night, gotta
spend mister zig smelling like a mixture of armani and weed my crew on high we at the bar buring hundreds end fiftys the next colangelo cause im balling in my city
year (any time of year) theres a party here (theres a party here) Verse 2 Now we hitting the clubs like we owning the spot its front row vip for mister
evening the sound of the gunfire was miles away Ah, softly we move through the shadows, slip away Through the trees crossing their lines in the mists
enshrouds the gleaming citadels, Sinistrous shadows rise from the vaults of the dreaming elder gods, Ophidian eyes glimmer through the icy whispering moon-mist