This is unfinished. All workable tracks to this were destroyed when my computer crashed in 2003 and this is 1 of the only draft copies I have. It only has first verse & chorus on this copy.
mixed for headphone listening.
use headphones for best experience
Lyrics
50 cal on my lap—gotta bottle of Jack
Time to hit up AM PM for some cola
Carpe diem for alcohol -I look over
As I’m smolderin the ashes out my pieces
Jesus himself couldn’t perfect the f*** in creases
In my Dickies as I slickly slide the Desert Eagle under the seat
Swing open my door and touch the concrete to my feet
Fleetwood wit da woodgrain, Eldorado with the blown brains
Insane I may be and I thought it was the 2-11 that made me crazy
Scraped knee h*** at the payphone
Got soup, corn in my poop
b*** named Pam ready to take it to the dome
I swoop like a segal and fly thru the breeze
In my 72 Regal as I take a hit of weed
Listenin to MC Breed cuz there ain’t no future in ya frontin
An if ya don’t know this then ya don’t know nuthin
Puntin all ya’all b*** es cuz uh I hate hoes
Don’t know about snitches then ya don’t know Joe.
Now I flow like molasses and in the Spotlight I drop asses
To the floor, sucked my dick, now I don’t love ya no more
Take my bic lighter—make the room glow brighter
As I place the flame to the splif forget the all nighter
Nor-sider as I ride to the highlands and thru the eastside
Know ya b*** es panties soaked the seats in my ride
(chorus)
12:17 AM sayin five more minutes
you came with a fine ass b*** bro *can i hit it?
sittin sideways pussy prolly plump
dump my four fingers in
pussy smell still lingerinnn
leave her in the backroom all spread out and bled out
probabally still dolled up with cum stuck tween her butt
cheeks
middle finger stinks
wash poop from under my nails in the sink
let my homies smell it and give a wink
kill beavers sh** i kill minks
*drink old english tall can, the 24 ounce gold cans*
do ya know all the panties i done pulled man
fold tan khakis no traintrack creases
white t-shirt plain back no Jesus watchin my back man*
just sleepy eyes and sleepy spies a sack--can i hit it
rotation's off--party foul--oh no you didn't
my fitted hat, brim flat, little off like my personality
you can rat a tat a bag a gats but never rattle me
