International Hustler - Lyrics - Freeway

Title: International Hustler
Artist: Freeway
Composer(s): Eriberto Serrano, Leslie Pridgen, K Roberts

Lyric:
Now I go from overseas, back to the block
Freeway, motherfucker, from the the, the Roc
Any day you wanna see my get shot of your strip
Everybody wanna be me, get paid off the block flip

Scripts move and paid off the rappin'
I'm makin' some things happen
You make an attempt to see me then it's clip boom
I'm makin' some things matchin'
I'm froze, stuffy nose, we bounce wit machinery, ahh

Choo, Free sneeze on you faggots
Here the clip drop, reload the semi-automatic
Get popped, then we seize keys like traffic
Box whip, locksmith, move keys through traffic

I'm like Boston, George and Blow
Philadelphia Freeway keep yay from blocks of soap
And y'all local, we international
Grip rounds every time I hit towns

And I hope y'all hear me in London and France
I tote wax down there when I ain't luggin' the cannon
And in Mecca I'm bowin', in Hawaii I'm landin'
On an island, smokin' and thinkin'

I hug blocks in the United States
I cop cribs in Africa, y'all can't relate
I kick box in Bancok, shark in Japan
Play my part, switch vans every time I hitman
And I, pull dimes every time I hit man

Since I'ma little ludicrous international post dude
And I, post up where you can't get man
Make hits with Jigga man, gotta respect dude
Much respect due, disrespect? You tek food

Feed you to the bullets in front of your steps
Pull it in front of your pets
Brains in their bowl, you pet food
Meanwhile I'm tryin' to make MJ moves
Which one? either I fool

Jordan or Jackson but until I get the fortune I'm snappin'
Snatchin', I'll show you how the meat eyes do
Give up weight, when you show 'em what them heaters do
Nigga wait, don't be that rude

You can take weight from anybody
If he think that he that dude
Roc-A-Fella nigga, we that crew
Shake niggas, And 1mixtape niggas, we got moves

And I hope y'all hear me in London and France
I tote wax down there when I ain't luggin' the cannon
And in Mecca I'm bowin', in Hawaii I'm landin'
On an island, smokin' and thinkin'

I hug blocks in the United States
I cop cribs in Africa, y'all can't relate
I kick box in Bancok, shark in Japan
Play my part, switch vans every time I hitman

And the flows sick damn, man
It's a man's world nigga, sit down you girl, niggas
That's why I bring pounds around you girl, niggas
'Case I gotta cock it back and clap on motherfucka, what?
Don't need a pound to sound you girl, niggas

But the pound's loud sound'll drown you mothafucka's ears
Yeah, it's Freeway young scarpper
Say my name wrong, I'll lodge a bullet in your nappy hair
Yeah, it's the flow of the decade
Studio, backwoods, 'dro and the Pepsi do it the best way
I was thirteen, cockin' the tek back, look how the tek spray

Now I dribble down, V-A motherfucka
For schizlle you'll see Free my nizzle
Oh, yeah, don't forget the Way motherfucka
Any stupid motherfucka in my way gettin' crippled

And I hope y'all hear me in London and France
I tote wax down there when I ain't luggin' the cannon
And in Mecca I'm bowin', in Hawaii I'm landin'
On an island, smokin' and thinkin'

I hug blocks in the United States
I cop cribs in Africa, y'all can't relate
I kick box in Bancok, shark in Japan
Play my part, switch vans every time I hitman

And I hope y'all hear me in London and France
I tote wax down there when I ain't luggin' the cannon
And in Mecca I'm bowin', in Hawaii I'm landin'
On an island, smokin' and thinkin'

I hug blocks in the United States
I cop cribs in Africa, y'all can't relate
I kick box in Bancok, shark in Japan
Play my part, switch vans every time I hitman

Play the MP3 online for free!

f8eae587931ca54fb8a2111e5350d26b

Twilight - Lyrics - Bravehearted - Bravehearts

Title: Twilight
Album: Bravehearted
Artist: Bravehearts
Composer(s): K Dean, Michael Epps, Jabari T Jones, Nasir Jones

Lyric:
Uh, yea, yea, yea
Let's go niggas
C'mon nigga, c'mon nigga

I be dippin' in tha twilight, wit gangstas
Smokin' weed up in my ride life
The same stuff, it's still a bitch, livin' like I'm rich
Bang broads call me Mr. International, ghetto stars
I be dippin' in tha twilight, wit gangstas
Smokin' weed up in my ride life
The same stuff, it's still a bitch, livin' like I'm rich
Bang broads call me Mr. International, ghetto stars

Yo' I talk like a champion, walk like a champion
Body like a God, and I promise that Nas will hit you off
Flow like a gangsta, blum bum bum bum bum
Bustin' like dummies, so mami you come and lick it off
I stay right, purple haze'd outfit stay on my hip
Blood stay in my mouf, petron layed out
Tequila sunrise and five 6's, surprise bitches
Nas from the trenches, hot as he survived

This is ten years, here for good, rep fo' my thugs
Plumper than last summer, stomach streched from tha grub
Good livin', good women, I fuck wit straight stallions
Bowleg stances, go 'head handsome
But they all scream, my car's lean
Hit up, every state, town, city wit my braveheart team
Pretty face, round tits and ass, stay my queen
Keep a burna in tha trunk, ate all fifteen

When I be dippin' in tha twilight, wit gangstas
Smokin' weed up in my ride life
The same stuff, it's still a bitch, livin' like I'm rich
Bang broads call me Mr. International, ghetto stars
I be dippin' in tha twilight, wit gangstas
Smokin' weed up in my ride life
The same stuff, it's still a bitch, livin' like I'm rich
Bang broads call me Mr. International, ghetto stars

Yo' if you see me on MTV, don't forget
I'm tha same nigga from QB
Sittin' on tha block, hungry and starvin'
Imaginin' performin' at Madison Square Garden
Or Radio City, in New York City
Bring tha whole hood wit me, gallons of henny
My homie got shot right befo' my eyes
I got shot too, but I survived

I was just a teenager, never had a pager
Always had flava, chasin' dat paper
I need dem diamonds, dem new clothes
Pretty hoes, dat Bently Coupe all red like a rose
And everybody knows, my gun goes off
In tha west coast, durty south, and up north
Jungle tha boss, a natural born hustler
I despise suckas, ya punk muthafuckas

When I be dippin' in tha twilight, wit gangstas
Smokin' weed up in my ride life
The same stuff, it's still a bitch, livin' like I'm rich
Bang broads call me Mr. International, ghetto stars
I be dippin' in tha twilight, wit gangstas
Smokin' weed up in my ride life
The same stuff, it's still a bitch, livin' like I'm rich
Bang broads call me Mr. International, ghetto stars

Nigga I'm high wit high hopes, fuck tha bullshit
Stand up in front of dat, you get tha full clip
I'll beat a nigga senseless, his skin is missin', listen
My knockouts is six, so serious
Bang wit a "b" on my chest, ya'll niggas is bitches
Ya touch me and I'm pullin' ya dress from stitches to stitchin'
I hate y'all niggas, stomp you out like roaches
Can't you see I'm here to get this paper just I'm suppose to

I been a BraveHeart since semen, cesspool my pops schemin'
One thought to get up in my moms jeans and it came to this
It feel like a muthafucka dreamin', but I'm here
Fuck anything another nigga thinkin', see dem BraveHearts
Damn, those my niggas, you got drama wit 'em
Sleep witcha gun unda ya fuckin' pillow
This is real thangs, I know shit feels strange
How dem QB niggas do thangs, check dis shit

When I be dippin' in tha twilight, wit gangstas
Smokin' weed up in my ride life
The same stuff, it's still a bitch, livin' like I'm rich
Bang broads call me Mr. International, ghetto stars
I be dippin' in tha twilight, wit gangstas
Smokin' weed up in my ride life
The same stuff, it's still a bitch, livin' like I'm rich
Bang broads call me Mr. International, ghetto stars

Play the MP3 online for free!

e1d053c656e9924dcf7171cd0ed11059

Z - What More Can I Say? - Lyrics - The Black Album - Jay

Title: Z - What More Can I Say?
Album: The Black Album
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): S Johnson, Shawn Carter, Roland Lawrence Chambers, Kenneth Gamble, A Gonzalez, Thom Bell

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained?
Is this not why you are here?
Uh uh-huh
Uh uh-huh uhh
Turn the music up, turn me down
Guru, let's go get 'em again
This time it's for the money my nigga
Brooklyn, stand up

There's never been a nigga this good for this long
This hood, or this pop, this hot, or this strong
With so many different flows there's one for this song
The next one I switch up, this one will get bit up
These fucks, too lazy to make up shit, they crazy
They don't, paint pictures, they just, trace me
You know what? Soon they forget where they plucked
they whole style from, they try to reverse the outcome
I'm like, tough
I'm not a biter I'm a writer for myself and others
I say a B.I.G. verse, I'm only biggin' up my brother

Biggin up my borough, I'm big enough to do it
I'm that thorough, plus I know my own flow is foolish
So them rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out
It's hard to yell when the bar-rell's in your mouth
I'm in new sneakers, dual-seaters
Few divas, what more can I tell you?
Let me spell it for you
Double U I, double L I E
Nobody truer than, H O V
And I'm back for more, New York's ambassador
Prime Minister, back to finish my business up

What more can I say?
What more can I do?
I gave this up to you
I know this much is true, true

What more can I say to you?
You heard it all

You already know what I'm about, flyin' birds down South
Movin' wet off the step, "Purple Rain" in a drought
Stuntin' on hoes, brushin' off my shirt
But ain't nuttin' on my clothes 'cept my chain, my name
Young H-O pitch the yay faithful
Even if they patrol I make payroll
Benz paid fo', friends they roll
Private jets down to Turks and Caicos

Crist' caseloads, I don't give a shit
Nigga one life to live, I can't let a day go
By without me bein' fly or fresh to death
Head to toe 'til the day I rest
And I don't wear jerseys, I'm thirty plus
Give me a crisp pair of jeans, nigga button up
S. Dots on my feet make my cipher complete
What more can I say? Guru play the beat!

We gon' let this ride into the hook
I'ma snap my fingers on this one
What more can I say to you?
Get my grown man on
Let's go

What more can I say?

Now you know yo' ass is Willie when they got you in the mag
For like half a billy, and yo' ass ain't lily
White that mean that shit you write must be illy
Either that or your flow is silly, it's both
I don't mean to boast, but damn if I don't brag
Them crackers gon' act like I ain't on they ass
The Martha Stewart, that's far from Jewish
Far from a Harvard student, just had the balls to do it
And no I'm not through with it
In fact, I'm just previewin' it

This ain't the show, I'm just EQ'n it
One-two and I won't stop abusin' it
To groupie girls, stop false accusin' it
Back to the music, the Maybach roof is translucent
Niggaz got a problem Houston! Heh
What up B, they can't shut up me
Shut down I, not even P.E., I'ma ride
God forgive me for my brash delivery
But I remember vividly what these streets did to me
So picture me lettin' these clowns nitpick at me

Paint me like a pickany
I will literally kiss T.T. in the forehead
Tell her please forgive me then squeeze until you full 'head
I'm not the one to score points off, in fact
I got a joint that'll knock yo' points off
Young, Hova the God, nigga blasphemy
I'm at the Trump International, ask for me
I ain't never scared, I'm everywhere you ain't never there
And nigga, why would I ever care?
Pound for pound, I'm the best to ever come around here

Excludin' nobody, look what I embody
The soul of a hustler, I really ran the street
A CEO's mind, that marketin' plan was me
And no I ain't get shot up a whole bunch of times
Or make up shit in a whole bunch of lines
And I ain't animated like say a Busta Rhymes
But the real shit you get when you bust down my lines
Add that to the fact I went plat' a bunch of times
Times that by my influence on pop culture
I'm supposed to be number one on everybody list
We'll see what happens when I no longer exist
Fuck this!

What more can I say?

Play the MP3 online for free!

932362a4025696802185875c59af0d2c