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16 year old hiphop arist, fresh raw hiphop music
What up? Peep my music, or ill come after you while your sleeping! muhaha
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #27,279
Peak in subgenre #17,008
Author
Lyrics- Impulse.... Beat: Alpine Productions
Rights
Lyrics: "Spot Blown".... Beat "no copyrights"
Uploaded
November 30, 2002
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.0 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Story behind the song
Song derived from people gettin the wrong impression of me, thinkin i would do some things..
Lyrics
Intro: "Sometimes people make false impressions of me"
"Well im here to set the record strait"
Verse 1:
ayo, im here to set the record strait, and get it right /
with my peeps in the west side, i wont let em die /
they ride, and roll with me, listenin to the old fifty /
and i got places to stay, when my own home feels shitty /
they down, they around when i need em the most /
and i proceed to roast, whenever my heater is broke /
cant believe these foes, feed em, and they choke /
on the own breath, i aint stoppin till my last step /
recieve ya last check, and except to get ya ass checked /
cuz im broke like a baretta, and i need the chedda /
so hand it over,its better, then gettin stuck robbed /
cuz i aint playin nomore, ive tried 2 months to get a fuccin job /
and my luck is odd, ill be laughin wit ya like your funny /
but im really like, "yo, give me ya fuccin money bitch" /
"cuz im sick of tryin, shit, fuckas dont want me havin a job, then ill find my own way to get money, nah mean... society aint nothin but a bitch, tryin to fuck you over"
Chorus:
Cuz I'm so sick, and, tired.... of all this shit thats goin on /
i cant believe this bitch, whats he on ? /
it must be crack, cuz i can see all his agression /
cuz i know for fact, that this bitch got the wrong impression /
Verse 2:
Dont think that i dont talk much, i wont walk up /
or stalk ya for like 2 weeks with chalk dust /
who you to stop us? you aint shit, just a fawka /
you just a junkie, mixed up in coke, like vodka /
so join your local club, and steal ya money from ya pot luck /
so get up off us, before ya hit rock bottom /
i taught em, how to control your flow like faucets /
and im a professional wrestler, the way my mics awesome /
bombin, gotcha fallin, like leaves in autom /
every since that day ya said shit, every step of yours is catious /
im comfortable natious, im sick all year round /
it'll make the def people turn around and be like "whats that sound"
im bound to be crowned, numba one, ontop /
not ontop of the game, ontop of your girl bout ready to pop /
ima neva stop, till my heart fails /
oh hell, ill stop now, might as well / shit im gettin
Verse 3:
i can see it in ya eyes, u wanna fuccin die, dont cha? /
gotcha yaself boasted, and too big headed like opera /
oh ma god, here we go again, just one more time /
im sick off these old ass lies, ima poltraguise with stone cold eyes /
im ill, i gotcha like "sound" nah fuck that, /
im iller, its more like ah ah with alittle "sound sound" /
boomshaklaca, lookin at your fake ass, like "ha",
now you a bitch mixed with alittle dick, so its more like haha /
yo check it, make sure these bitches learn they lesson /
ive never said shit i didnt mean, or my word when i havent kept it /
and i left it like that, never went back on my own /
i never had alot of dough, nope, and ive always had bad bones /
cuz im bad to the bone, always have, but what happen is gone /
try to call me up bitchin, and hear me laugin on the phone /
cuz sometimes these katz make me laugh hard enough to hurt my stomach /
cuz i heard ya bluffin, blushin, my turn to be so sick it turns your stomach /
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