Testi musica canzoni

(I heard Sam was going solo) God damn, you didn·t know so,

well I can blast fast so freak an ill type of slow flow.

I·m hitting harder than Berry Boss so check the golden child,

throwing it to your ear-hole, got you going buck wild.

But truck-tracks, rhymes all day, breaking off niggaz proper,

did dirt, did West cause I clown coppers (yeah).

Do hip-hop, rap, compose ·em most, I couldn·t see me,

mad advanced and my skills are all about the dollar bills.

From Pittsburgh to Cali dropping bombs like that,

was on the D.L. with the squad so I couldn·t hold it back.

Black, I regulate I buzz a big gate figure,

mobbing with the ill nigga, with his finger on a bigger trigger.

Serving all (saps), hitting sevens on the (simps),

making do·, eating shrimps, locing with some real pimps (yeah).

So peep game, best believe I love my peeps

that·s why I make the type of music you can pump in your jeeps

(that·s right).

So buck my sound, I put it down for the underground,

I got the women cause I·m slamming, jamming.

Got it going on this time for this new producer to rise,

so open your eyes, I think you better recognïze.