paroles de chanson Sheet Music (feat. Sean Price & Havoc) - Gangrene , haVoc , Sean Price

930, 33rd
Gangrene, uh
They say the boy's old school

WWF, I will smack a fucking chair to that little ass chest
You outta breath? That means you needin' some rest
Have a seat, literal
I'm yellin' to the crowd and they screamin' to, "Get ready, you"
And I don't need the cage or the rings
I'm from the gang that goes bang in your dreams
So keep dreamin' like you're gaugin' your sleep
So I can see what you thought on your sheets
I call it sheet music

Like the cat on that sheet movin'
The sleek movement, they seep into it
I see what you're doing, you're sick
I see through it, like a live leak to a filmin'
From a local's phone I choke your focus gone
Like hocus pocus and a locust swarm
The only way you hearing the buzz
Over the music that they play in the clubs
Shit, send in the thugs, baby, show me some love
I see the haters, they ain't fuckin' with us
(They ain't fuckin' with us)

No, never doubted I'm better at it, you little fuck
Whoever ratted got bullet tatted to full advantage
I'm laughin' at it, tryna find a little good in us
Good luck, motherfucker, night-night motherfucker

Smoke blunts, you know the black is potent
Coke, don't front, you know I got you open
At lunch with the snakes and the pigeons, front
Get punched in your face for livin'
Listen, I've been here wig, you've seen this riddle
My dreams is big, my crib is little
Living in the Ville is risky

Niggas green with envy but I'm Bill Bixby, uh
Mr. McGee don't get me angry
You wouldn't like it when I'm angry, listen P
New Lou Ferrigno
Big bullets that shoot through you and your kinfolks
Route from Helter, .9 clapped, spine tapped, and fuck your felt up
Stuffed to the wack boy
Biggest nigga in my group, buffering the fat boy, P

Never doubted I'm better at it, you little fuck
Whoever ratted got bullet tatted to full advantage
I'm laughin' at it, tryna find a little good in us
Good luck, motherfucker, night-night motherfucker

I'm crumblin' the dope, two G's in a bucket
A big bundle for the rope, twenty G's for the nugget
Doing slalom's in the slope, my machinery's rugged
Your pussy worth a shit-stain, bikini is muddy
Break levee when I rain through the vicinity, flooded
So I could test, my humour's get canoed
This is only a small portion, I'm giving you a snippet view
Trailer visual, sick of the salmonella chicken flu

My creative juice come from a different fruit
But when you sip it strong like Guinness brew
Spill blood on your tennis shoe
Before I bless chalice, I use a paperclip to scrape the residue
Stickman, get the money, take the revenue
Theme music for you to push the Lambourghini pedal to
Explode a grenade and pieces of metal flew
Collateral damage, aim for the torso, but the leg will do

Never doubted I'm better at it, you little fuck
Whoever ratted got bullet tatted to full advantage
I'm laughin' at it, tryna find a little good in us
Good luck, motherfucker, night-night motherfucker

Motherfucker
Oh Jesus why don't you give to my advertisin'
After you give me the main course
Well, what the fuck kind of shit is that?
That's crazy shit, man
And Al Pacino's like, "Where the fuck you goin', good officer?"
I don't give a shit

Uh, I'm confused, because uh
You figure it out, I'm gettin' out of here! (No)
And I'm gonna wear my sunglasses out here, you know why?
Because women have short skirts and then they feel violated
When I look at them, why?
Because I have sunglasses on, and I'm weird
All those people who called me a sleepwalker
I woke up, now I'm going back to sleep as I am
A fuck-up, goodbye