paroles de chanson Comin' Up Comin' Down - SPM

Down
That G, in H-Town
South bound, as I clown
Come around, blaze a pound
Comin' up
Comin' down
That G, in H-Town
South bound, as I clown
Come around, blaze a pound

Well, let me
Jump, in this funk, with a pump and fake
Give me five funky dollars, you can bump my tape
Cause my flow come realer than a dealer servin' killer
Ain't nobody trilla
Still a body chiller
Feel a millimeter comin' quicker than a cheetah
Me drop you on your pita, then snatch your senorita
I be the creeper, the back street sweeper
Want a pound of reifer, then hit me on my beeper
Leaf of the ganja, make me really want ya
Dip me up in water
Fried with me Sancha
Got ya, me Glock
Pop, pop on your drop top
The way I dodge cops, like the rock in hop scotch
Drop a pig, I can dig, deep
In your terrordome
Smoke
On my square alone, don't
No one care at home
Pair of chrome
Gats, blow backs on the sidewalk
I got
My lock
Poppin' hot rocks
In your body, party hardy, Lodi Dodi
Carley, your daddy smoke like
Bob Marley
Sorry, I'm hardly the one you should learn from
Everywhere I turn, some, body wanna burn one
It's the cursed son, worse than the first one
When me gat burst, to the nurse or the hearse
Cause I shoot 'em in the booty, man, local Hillwoodian
Choppin' on a cookie, momma put me in the looney bin
Could've been a better man
Up in Never, Neverland
Jesus's helpin' hand
Reason this record jam
Never ran, never will, still chill in Hillwood
Damn sure feel good
Livin' in a real hood

Comin' up
Comin' down
That G, in H-Town
South bound, as I clown
Come around, blaze a pound
Comin' up
Comin' down
That G, in H-Town
South bound, as I clown
Come around, blaze a pound

I'm
Now, you can work on knees, you can jack for keys
I cut my cheese and get to stackin' G's
I'm drinkin' Daquiri's, and ain't no jackin' these
I got slack, in the front
And the back of me
It's a tragedy
I was raised on streets
Blazed on sweets, and sprayed posses
Costly profession, learned my lesson
Bout impressin' my clique with Smif-N-Wesson
Addressin' ghetto issues
When I sold me crack
Had me mom goin' through a box of tissues
But if I was in his, shoes, I'd probably
Still lose
It's in my blood to kill fools
Him choose death when he disrespect
Inject my tech, and then I press eject
The Mex'll check
Any clique that trips
It don't make sense talkin' lip to clips
Now which way to run
Where do you hide
Boo-yah, oooh ya, almost died
Now take a ride with me
Through the deep blue sky
Here, take a hit, let me get you high
Repeat Chorus Twice

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