paroles de chanson Ron Burgundy (feat. Flukey, Goldie & Squeegie Oblong) - Tyrone Briggs

Ron Burgundy, uh
How I tell a vision
Before Bob could lay down the drums, this shit was finished
Lyrically I'm Fei Long, it's fire when I kick it
Don't share my moves with no one, no Ryu to my kinship
You feel me lawd
It ain't nothing to rap to me
Nothing wack, or average, it's either heat or a masterpiece
Sample chopped by Fresh, he threw the pass to me
With slaps hard enough to get us banned from an academy
Keep my wife's name out you're fucking mouth
Daylight savings, you'll see the rise when son come out
Can out lap them without passing the Paton
This shit is remote learning, I'm in a class on my own
Don't compare me to dudes that wear a thousand dollar belts
But won't invest a hundred dollars in they self
And wonder why they fan base in they hometown is often doing awful
Nigga nobody gone support you until you support you
Stupid

Like we always do about this time
Uh
Flukey the illest
These dudes beginners
The rest of them just pretenders dude
They couldn't fit my tennis shoes
I run with niggas they in the room then you hid you jewels
We different dudes if we say we did it we did it too
Nigga, Flu too cool for you dudes to ridicule
Tell the truth admit
Ya'll niggas pick and choose
And fabricate your truth when you spit so you can fit in crews
Than your whole diction a contradiction dude
Somebody tell Bobby this beat a body
Body slamming rappers, running my city, Jesse The Body
All these rappers claiming they king but I see no body
First nigga screaming my name then I see a body
We'll see about it, but see I thought I told ya'll not to fuck with me
I thought I told these niggas we spit buck fifties
On the low I know all ya'll niggas look up to me
That's not you dude if he said that you could keep up with me

I said what I said
I saw crunch time he said it's crunch time
He took a little sabbatical, let his funds climb
I remember it vividly ducking one time
Now we trapping immaculate on the front line
Don't bother Miss Carter, she mad
The head good, she ski free cause she bad
Pop tags and drop bags and we brag
No gun flashing, freeze tag cause we dads
I see ya copping shit that we had
I hear ya popping shit like he mad
I'm on a thousand, I brought the pounds in
The kilo is a thousand grams provide the housing
Look brother that's word to Lu's mother
I been inside of the poom poom and you love her
Door banging like boom boom, it's who other
None other, Cobain I brung butter

Niggas be at these shows rocking they sisters clothes thinking they next up
You call this shit local I call it check cuts
Bitch I'll sign your pity on the runny kind
Sada tay
Pull a chester bean screaming help police
Twisted on harbor day
Black Jesus on the platform
Last of the mohegans
Cause real nigga season is rare
From the era of the schemers
Jean shorts on like I'm the black John Cena
You niggas ain't seeing the flesh
There's no way you could connect to spirit
Shut down the play with a pass interference
Son I got love for Tyrone briggs
But that ugly motherfucker owes me bread
Cause I wrote half of Tyrone shit
On my Reggie I'll be that
My nickname is fuck you bitch
Cause all the hoes know that he ain't shit
Turn you album to a weed tray
My shit spins on Shade 45 I got nudes blackmailing the DJs