I'm still standin...
|
This for the rap gods...
|
|
I tried to earn wings but, I think I grew horns
|
And maybe that's why mc's rock me like porn
|
Flowin like the water in the mississippi river
|
I suppose it grows in the hennessey sipper, thank me
|
To do a show, and we tryin to do a palace, like a midnight jet,
|
My soul roams off to dallas,
|
It's somethin like cream when we hustle on the scene
|
Other mc's and freaks wanna join the team
|
Dealers would fly, ride the engines of pimps
|
The colors were candy coated, incredible rims
|
And my dreams of what people sayin, don't get a job
|
I realize now it was all the rap gods
|
I slither through the streets like a boa constricter
|
On my car dashboard got the gangsta pictures
|
Sportin leather and energy, could that be me?
|
Smokin weed listenin to run DMC?
|
My repute wass a rap child, emotions of steel
|
Represent with no crew man, your life is sealed
|
Add a two's of all kinds, with gun zippers in em'
|
See notes don't last long, we can't wait to spin em'
|
Oh cars, and bars, weed, greed, and clothes
|
Maintain my women, clown the rest of these hoes
|
Man, my festive up braid the truth of a rhyme
|
After restin on jeopardy to my lifetime grind
|
I'm like an angel that's high smoken' weed up in heaven
|
We're as crooked as reverends, b-ball playground legends
|
Triangle, some say sinsanati bang goes, stars fangle
|
Hand cold as chris krango, we break hearts
|
And crack rib praps, take trips far
|
Shop at the gap, ten by the rap gods
|
Shoot the git, so I blessed it with some weed, bacon, eggs and grits
|
I can block the sun, like a solar-eclipse
|
My homie said he had a yaght but I don't mess with ships
|
The freak, said she hated dope dealers, they clock they ends,
|
I said which is why your payin this rapper then
|
Nickatina, I'm something like simbad the sailor
|
Dress in red and black, the true signs of a raider
|
|
-----------------
|
The Rap Gods
|
| Andre Nickatina |
