White Shell Road - Lyrics - Golden Smog

Title: White Shell Road
Artist: Golden Smog
Composer(s): Gary Michael Louris

Lyric:
The wheels are spinning inside of my head
The wheels are spinning inside of my head
They don't know, they don't know

The leaves listen to what I say
The leaves listen to what I say
They don't know, they don't know
It's a stab in the dark

The light slept on the riverbed
The light slept on the riverbed
Slipped into the shadows
And landed like a figurehead

The moral night is the darkest night
The moral night is the darkest night
They don't know

I cut my feet on the white shell road
I cut my feet on the white shell road
They don't know, they don't know
It's a stab in the dark

The light slept on the riverbed
The light slept on the riverbed
Slipped into the shadows
And landed like a figurehead

They don't know

I saw her running down, down in the garden
Her hair was flowing 'round and brown
Tumbled and stumbled to the ground and died

The leaves listen to what I say
The leaves listen to what I say
They don't know, they don't know

I cut my feet on the white shell road
I cut my feet on the white shell road
They don't know, they don't know
It's a stab in the dark

The light slept on the riverbed
The light slept on the riverbed
Slipped into the shadows
And landed like a figurehead

They don't know, they don't know
They don't know, they don't know
They don't know, they don't know, they don't know
It's a stab in the dark, it's a stab in the dark

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921b4a1451f286d634924f56b15e89b5

Bangin Screw - Lyrics - Get Money, Stay True - Paul Wall

Title: Bangin Screw
Album: Get Money, Stay True
Artist: Paul Wall
Composer(s): Zach Burke, Russell Howard, Lewis Kinoshi, Paul Slayton, Paul Wall

Lyric:
I got that trunk cracked, windows tinted
Trunk cracked, windows tinted
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw

Comin' down so fly-y-y
Smokin' leaf, so hi-i-igh
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw
Slowly rollin', I'm bangin' screw

What it do, it's Paul to the wall
Trig up tall, let the four screens fall
Spot is crawl, gon' turn up that dial
And they heads all nod like a bobble head doll

Bendin' corners, up and down, way side
From Greens Road to that Antoine Drive
Crew on da side playin' NBA Live
I'm too cool for school, ridin' on buckhide

Turnin' heads when I'm on that Scott
Hit them friends before they quickly stop
Boys in the mill talkin' 'bout they on top
8 months later, all them boys flop

Like it or not, I'm in the game and I'm showin' up
Keke got dat oil and I'm pourin' up
Hit the club with Captain Jack
And Big Steve representin' my hood, still throwin' up

Big money in the gang is the name bro
Candy, old school drop top, full of ho
Boys used to be sleepin' on me
But the champ is here, I guarantee that they ass woke

Ridin' on spoke, that's the elbow
Still rockin' in the ice, white shell toe
This for my boys from dat kelso
And you already know

I got that trunk cracked, windows tinted
Trunk cracked, windows tinted
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw

Comin' down so fly-y-y
Smokin' leaf, so hi-i-igh
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw
Slowly rollin', I'm bangin' screw

Yeah, I'm still on that 5 9
But might see me on that 5 8, comin' down
All over the town, I like to get around
Jammin' my fat pat screwed up underground

Comin' down in the lime green 88
While them boys on the sideline wanna hate
Buck a kid for fuckin' up the state plate
I must admit, my life's great

T. Farris with me and there's no butter bends
Lookin' thru Lois Lane and me stackin' up ends
Bro's over hoes, yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout friends
Got freedom on my arm for my dawg, Lil' Twen

Dub on the rim, that?s T.I.'s
Just like pretty Tod, I'm D-boy, fresh
Got oil comin' in and it's straight from the west
And the grill throwin' mesh on the Cadillac crest

Head of the best, I ain't messin' wit da rest
Santa Claus sled his palm, gritty red
Sippin' that taste takin it straight to da head
And that Swishahouse is what I rep till I'm dead

I got that trunk cracked, windows tinted
Trunk cracked, windows tinted
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw

Comin' down so fly-y-y
Smokin' leaf, so hi-i-igh
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw
Slowly rollin', I'm bangin' screw

I'm tippin' fours and I'm sippin' fours
And I'm flippin' hoes with my partner, Clue
Posted up at that T S U or that Prairie View
With my patner, Clue

Oh, boys get out of line and chop
Tryin' to run up and jack my slab
This one here for my boy, Lil' Kee
I'm throwin' the duce up and gettin' boys dab

Pourin' da juice up and grippin' that ab
Wavin' hoods so the base showcase
Settin' the trends steady, choppin' up wind
With a diamond ice grin and paper, I chase

Taper fade by the bad boy shop
Tippin' slow, I'm screwed up and chopped
Listenin' to some of that some of that bad boy Earle
Them choppaholics, maybe that's Michael Watts

Choppin' the block up, holdin' the coupe up
[Incomprehensible], now I'm on them swangs
Grillin' women popped trunk full of bang
I'm third coast raised and I'm drippin' stains

I'm here to stay, tryin' to break that bread
Slowly throwed till the day I'm diseased
Leaning tough, I got a cup full of stuff
With a starched crease and a Johnny Dang piece

I got that trunk cracked, windows tinted
Trunk cracked, windows tinted
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw

Comin' down so fly-y-y
Smokin' leaf, so hi-i-igh
Slowly rollin', I'm banging screw
Slowly rollin', I'm bangin' screw

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Z - Brooklyn'S Finest - Lyrics - Reasonable Doubt - Jay

Title: Z - Brooklyn'S Finest
Album: Reasonable Doubt
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Marshall Jones, Chris Wallace, Leroy Bonner, Shawn Carter, Walter Morrison, Andrew Noland, Marvin Pierce, Gregory Webster, Rodolfo Franklin, Ralph Middlebrooks, Norman Napier

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

Lyric:
Okay, I'm reloaded
You motherfuckers, think you big time?
Fuckin' with Jay-Z, you gon' die, big time
Here come the, "Pain"

Jigga, jigga, bigga, bigga
Nigga, how you figure, how you figure
Yeah, yeah, yeah, aiyyo

Peep the style and the way the cops sweat us
The number one question is can the feds get us
I got vendettas in dice games against ass betters
And niggaz who pump wheels and drive Jettas
Take that witcha

Hit ya, back split ya, fuck fist fights and lame scuffles
Pillow case to your face, make the shell muffle
Shoot your daughter in the calf muscle
Fuck a tussle, nickel-plated
Sprinkle coke on the floor, make it drug related
Most hate it

Can't fade it while y'all pump Willie, I run up in stunts silly
Scared, so you sent your little mans to come kill me
But on the contrilli, I packs the mack-milli
Squeezed off on him, left them paramedics
Breathin' soft on him
What's ya name?

Who shot ya? Mob ties like Sinatra
Peruvians tried to do me in, I ain't paid them yet
Tryin' to push 700's, they ain't made them yet
Rolex and bracelets is frostbit, rings too
Niggaz 'round the way call me Igloo Stix, who?
Motherfucker

Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls
Nigga shit ya drawers
Where you from?
Brooklyn, goin' out for all
Marcy, that's right, you don't stop
Bed-Stuy, you won't stop, nigga

What, what, what?
Jay-Z, Big' Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
Brooklyn represent y'all, hit you fold
You crazy, think your little bit of rhymes can play me?
I'm from Marcy, I'm varsity, chump, you're JV
Jigga, Jay-Z

And Bigga baby
My Bed-Stuy flow's malicious, delicious
Fuck three wishes, made my road to riches
From 62's, gem stars, my moms dishes
Gram choppin', police van dockin'
D's at my doors knockin'

What? Keep rockin'
No more, Mister Nice Guy, I twist your shit
The fuck back with them pistols, blazin'
Hot like cajun, hotter than even holdin' work at the
Days Inn with New York plates outside
Get up outta there, fuck your ride

Keep your hands high, shit gets steeper here comes
The Grim Reaper, Frank Wright, leave the keys to your
In-tegra, that's right, chill homie, the bitch in the Shoney's told me
You're holdin' more drugs than a pharmacy, you ain't harmin' me
So pardon me, pass the safe, before I blaze the place
And here's six shots just in case, Brooklyn

Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
Where you from? Brooklyn goin' out to all
Crown Heights, you don't stop
Brownsville, you won't stop, nigga, Brooklyn
Hah hah, Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
Where we from? Brooklyn goin' out to all
Bushwick, you don't stop
Fort Greene, you won't stop, niggaz

Yeah, yeah, yeah
For nine six, the only MC with a flue
Yeah I rhyme sick, I be what you're tryin' to do
Made a fortune off Peru, extradite, China white heron
Nigga please, like short sleeves I bear arms
Stay out my way from here on clear? Gone

Me and Gutter had two spots
The two for five dollar hits, the blue tops
Gotta go, Coolio mean it's gettin' "Too Hot"
If Fay' had twins
She'd probably have two-Pac's
Get it? Tu-pac's

Time to separate the pros from the cons
The platinum from the bronze
That butter soft shit from that leather on the Fonz
A S1 diamond from a eye class don
A Cham' Dom' sipper from a Rosay nigga, huh?
Brook-Nam, sippin' on

Cristal forever, play the crib when it's mink weather
The M.A.F.I.A. keep canons
In they Marc Buchanans usually cuatro cinco
The shell sink slow, tossin' ya
Mad slugs through your Nautica
I'm warnin' ya, hah, what the fuck?

Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
Where you from? Brooklyn goin' out to all
Flatbush, you don't stop
Redhook, you won't stop, nigga, Brooklyn
Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
Where you from? Brooklyn goin' out to all
East New York, you don't stop
Clinton Hill, you won't stop, nigga
Is Brooklyn in the house?

Roc-A-Fella, y'all, Junior M.A.F.I.A.
Superbad click, Brooklyn's finest
You rewind this
Represetin' BK to the fullest

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8 Mile Road (G-Unit Remix) - Lyrics - The New Breed - 50 Cent

Title: 8 Mile Road (G-Unit Remix)
Album: The New Breed
Artist: 50 Cent
Composer(s): Curtis Jackson, Christopher Lloyd, Marshall Mathers, Marvin Bernard

Lyric:
Yeah, 50 Cent, Lloyd Banks, Tony Yayo
G-Unit

This rap shit plays a major part of my life
So if you jeapordize it I got the right
To send a mothafucka at you tonight
G-Unit, and I ain't stoppin' to my clique poppin'

Swimmin' in barrels of money
Ma could walk around wit' a head up
And challenge you dummy
It's funny, niggaz rather see you sufferin' and hungry

I'm hungry as hell, skatin' with another nigga's money
You lyin' your ass off, you know you ain't that tough
I'm pullin' your mask off as soon as you act up
You know what I came for, it isn't the game ball

Artillary that's about as long as a chainsaw
(Lloyd Banks)
I'm wide awake, but it still feels like I'm dreamin'
Forty Cal under my pillow, condom feelin' my semen

The physical presence of a female, form of a demon
That's why, I fuck 'em and leave 'em
Get my nut while I'm breathin'
'Cause they thought they'd catch me slippin'

Now I'm duckin' and trippin'
That's a thousand dollar outfit what the fuck is you rippin'?
You trippin', more records could get my ass in position
Death wish for no religion whether Catholic or Christian

Listen, I went through, mama bitchin' in and out the kitchen
With probable cause, papa was in and out of prison
You got soldiers, but you still gotta respect ours
We got more four five's and nines than a deck of cards

You can take me out the 'hood, but can't take the 'hood out me
('Cause what?)
'Cause I'm ghetto, I'm ghetto
Niggaz hate when you do good

But when you broke, your friends and your enemies
They love you, they love you
"Chi Chi, get the llello"
Picture me being crack, out of town, trips on the trail

"Chi Chi, get the llello"
Picture me being crack
(Tony Yayo)
You can sift me, cut me, I'll turn you to a junkie
I'm the number one seller in the whole fuckin' country

Wallstreet niggaz, they cop me on the low
White boys don't call me coke, they call me blow
It's time to go, on the bus, the train, the plane
I'll smuggle, I'm nothin' but trouble

I'll make your money double
Cook me in baking soda
I'll turn your Hooprock into a new Range Rover
I'll pay all your bills and fill your 'frigerator

Feed your family, turn your man to a hater
Put me in your doorpanels or your stashbox
Put me in your Nik's, Timbs or Reeboks
If you cop three and a half you hustlin' backwards

Cop a hundred grams
You movin' forwards
You tryin' to move more birds
In PA all day, on the corner of Third

You can take me out the 'hood
But can't take the 'hood out me
(What?)
'Cause I'm ghetto, I'm ghetto
Picture me polishin' pistols, I'm comin' to get you

The shells hit you, you screamin'
Think I'm playin'? I mean it
Man, I done bought all these pistols
Let's get it poppin'

Start wavin' my emboies shell cases get the droppin'
(C'mon)
Like if it's down the corner, I got too much pride to hide
I'm outside, gun in my pocket just stunnin', I'm stoppin'
I'm dyin' to pop it, I'm young and I'm restless

You know my contestants
As the world turns, there's lessons to be learned
Count all my blessin's, clean up my weapons
I'm ready for war, the strong survive, the weak will parish

I told you before, hoes they compliment me now like "50 nice chain"
Belagio, twenty grand in chips at a dice game
Burn out, can't stop gotta watch MTV, BET
Nigga you see me

I wonder if you mad, 'cause I'm doin' good
Or 'cause niggaz feelin' me more than you in your own 'hood
And it hurts 'cause you love 'em and they don't love you back
'Cause they know you just rappin' and you don't bust a gat

You pussy, yeah, explain it to niggaz in your hood nigga
They know you fuckin' frontin' nigga
Talkin' like gangstas on a record, I see you nigga
Niggaz know me nigga, ask around in my 'hood nigga

Read the "Daily News" nigga
You see them talkin' about me nigga
I'm in the middle of all kinds of shit
Pussy, let's get it poppin'

G-G-Unit, G-G-Unit, G-G-G-Unit
G-G-G-Unit, G-Unit

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Redneck Like Me - Lyrics - Little Texas

Title: Redneck Like Me
Artist: Little Texas
Composer(s): James Ira Jr Booker

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

Lyric:
Gimme a river and a cypress tree
A day of good weather and I will be
As happy as a little green frog in the rain
Gimme a shell cracker on the line

Deep fried potatoes, and a homemade wine
And a woman to work it off later and cry my name
It don't take much, it don't take much
It don't take much to please, a redneck like me

Gimme a truck with four good tires
A cheap have a Tampa, and my desires
Will not exceed the limits of my means
I don't need no Porsche car

No pumped up music or a whacked out bar
No ghost white chicky, dressed up like a bad, black dream
It don't take much, it don't take much
It don't take much to please, a redneck like me

I have seen it all in my life
Running up and down the road in overdrive
But now the time has come to take it easy
It don't take much, it don't take much
It don't take much to please, a redneck like me
A redneck like me, a redneck like me

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