[Chopped and screwed voice:]
|
And I'm a go to a place where the bass sound thicker
|
Slow the beat down cause the pace a little quicker
|
So we stay up, while the sun goes down
|
We ain't make enough, so let the elevator pound
|
|
[Stalley:]
|
From the 'jects to the penthouse
|
Synonymous to what my life been 'bout
|
Kinetic energy, brain waves of intelligence, is what I send out
|
Still in the cutlass doing spin outs
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'87 boxed up all tinted out
|
Living life on the edge, couple links that excite the feds
|
Shout to mister jones
|
It's funny how sparkling stones bring attention from these hater heads
|
A lot of changing faces from these potato heads
|
Eyes dilated when I sashay lifted
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Couple doobies in the ashtray, cash clay run my mouth like a soon be champion
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The long beard, hows the pain I be dancing in
|
The reign with the Pharoahs, mirror image to the gods
|
My homie glory brings head nods, the only story I been bout
|
This controlled mind with no facade
|
The dreamy intuition from a street politician is scarred
|
Back and forth with the pimps and gang land symbolers
|
Dope boys with the bang in they trunk
|
See the tremblers
|
Milq city where I'm from, where the opie emblems
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Street names after indians, so wild cowboys watch where you coming in
|
Tomahawks with assault rifles
|
May bump into the next king pin or Haile Selassie
|
Civil with the spiritual
|
This city feels unlucky searching for a miracle
|
On this elevator ride skipping floors
|
Trying to reach the top, then the structure falls (falls)
|
|
[Chopped and screwed voice:]
|
And I'm a go to a place where the bass sound thicker
|
Slow the beat down cause the pace a little quicker
|
So we stay up, while the sun goes down
|
We ain't make enough, so let the elevator pound
|
|
-----------------
|
Pound
|
| Stalley |
