paroles de chanson Home - Madlib , Freddie Gibbs , BJ the Chicago Kid

Uh, LeBron number nine
I guess whenever she ain't on this dick, I'm on her mind
It's quite cliche to just say that I'm on my grind
And phone conversations ain't substitution for time in another city
Reminisce on days when I ain't have a fuckin' penny
These groupie bitches in this game wasn't fuckin' with me
Couldn't get a dollar for a rap show
Got a gun, a ski mask, and a half an ounce of crack, though
Slammin', in the pizza shop with Jacque
Last dollar on a slice, this contraband in my sock, wish you knew the feelin'
We're both so different but our situations so appealin'
Now I can't make it without you girl, you my new religion
And every hustler need a main thing
Baby, once I get it Imma make your last name change
Uh, said every hustler need a main thing
Baby, once I get it Imma make your last name change
Gibbs, uh
We still sockin'
Glock is still poppin'
Paper still droppin'
Lord, it ain't stoppin'
Girl, I'm comin' home, as soon as I get this paper
Yeah, the blocks still crackin', and girl, know what I'm packin'
And if you pop off, you gon' know what I'm jackin'
But I'm comin' home, as soon as I get this paper
Ayo, summertime, 105°
Getting mine, the smoke line
They want the kush, the Cali kind
I smoke wit' her, I choke wit' it, get dosed wit' her
A go-getter, helped me come up from a broke nigga
The home team
And she ain't just in my pocket, she got her own cream
Sometimes I slip at the mouth, I might say the wrong thing
And once we fight, it's back to fuckin'
My polos and my timbos out the window, but its nothin', what
Uh, said once we fight, it's back to fuckin'
I bend that ass right over on the sofa, like it's nothin'
So bust it open for a player, nose to your fucking toes
I'm comin' home, don't be trippin' on them other hoes