Текст песни Miles Davis - Blu , Exile

I autograph my cash and called a cab
We on the map (map) back in New York City like a Dodger cap
Blu, smooth like blue suede shoes
I told my homie, "Improve," I'm Tim Allen with the tools
I built my booth, made of jewels, left a hole in the speaker
Stepped in the stu', no shoes, but got more soul than sneakers
Below the clouds holdin' the crown, a Coke, and a smile
But on the humble, word to mumbles, all balls don't bounce
Yet a thousand styles flip out when the DJ spins out
Hits out, spit back a hundred rounds
Pulled the clip out, the most dope
Niggas get roached tryna approach the host
We lay it down, yo, butterin' toast
They make seductions to the pro, most fit
To hold his dick and spit
A loaded clip to hit the listener's mitt
I invent too many patterns to pattern your path after
Tell them rappers that we got it mastered, yo
Miles Davis
Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (the leader)
Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (trumpet)
Miles Davis

It's kinda Blu, but kinda new, colossal too
My whole team supreme, it's like a dream come true
I thought she new like the words to
Brooklyn Zoo how we cook the stu' (stu')
Homie my hook up might cut up, you hook your tooth
Salute the best of, niggas hear this and drop their best stuff
We next up, hop off the deck for your cassette bust
You couldn't blow it, Coltrane in the mall
Playin' the funk but y'all need to be hangin' it up
You cats washed up, cuttin' with vets and got your paws plucked
Prison guards couldn't lock ours, get your bars up
Bar none, nigga, Jay Barnes get the job done
We could be Siamese twins, still my squad won
My due, my rent late, I still pay dues
I'm too cool, too G, I sing the Ill Street Blues
Born in '83, still gettin' it in '82
And ain't a person on earth that could fill these shoes
Miles Davis
Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (remember Miles)
Mi-Mi-Miles Davis
Miles Davis
Miles Davis
Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (remember Miles)
Mi-Mi-Miles Davis
Miles Davis
Yeah, uh

Ex cut it (cut it)
The black trumpet (uh), you couldn't strum it (nah)
That instrumental hit, you in your stomach when you run it
Crowds plummet tryna touch it
The gold on the sound make you run out and crown somethin'
It's the best, the next in the West
Cover your chest like Muslims cover their neck
Truth seekers summon my text, bi-coastal for bifocals
It'll knock your trial over
You tryna chop with the top chef, try over
Who rhyme colder from California? (uh)
You catch pneumonia in the city that Biggie wrote rhymes over
Blow tweeters out speakers like, "Ether" through your aethers, yeah
Eat up receivers with the signal, I'ma leave ya
It's the code of the street sweeper, the sleep, sleep
Deeper to the hair on my people, beatin' blocks with the single
I see you coverin' ass like Utah fans
But John Stockton couldn't pass talkin' all that jazz
Miles Davis
Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (remember Miles)
Mi-Mi-Miles Davis
Miles Davis
Miles Davis
Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (remember Miles)
Mi-Mi-Miles Davis
Miles Davis
Miles Davis
Uh, Miles Davis
Miles Davis (cuttin' loose with the band)
The leader, trumpet
Miles, Miles Davis
Miles Davis cuttin' loose with the band
Miles Davis
Swing, swing, swing
Oh, oh