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felt - gangster ass anthony lyrics

“and maybe you’ve never felt the things that i’ve felt”

[verse 1: slug]
you can’t f-ck with the felt that flow
all the sh-t that you talking, don’t help you grow
mad face, can’t wait to catch a man made elbow
you see me say ‘h-llo’, when i leave say ‘h-ll no!’
i’m not an -sshole, i’m a perfectionist
travel the globe to have s-x with pessimists
my pimp, my doctor and my exorcist
all suggested that we come here to wreck your sh-t
it’s the treacherous, two plus ant
if we can’t do it, who the f-ck can?
they claim king, go and slave to the ringtone
i smell p-ssy in the bacon that you bring home
the fist-f-cking dysfunction at this function
is enough to justify shutting down your production
get off the mic, go straighten out ya life
for one of these mc’s who puts it on your wife

[verse 2: murs]
your girlfriend got her panties off, once again
one gnawed that nasty sh-t that i done to her friend
so once again it’s on motherf-cker
and you won’t do sh-t, you a b-tch so f-ck ya
i didn’t like myself this morning when i woke up
so keep talking sh-t like i woke loc up
i’m from pico-? we don’t stop
when the police come, then the heat go poppin’
now we stopping, we go in the house
you can get jail time for just tryin’ to show out
i’m trying to roll out, no doubt
come and take your ho out
popping that junk, young punk what you know about
felt 2 me and slug comming through
when we serving these suckers like ‘may i help you?’
supersize when we ride on these busters
murs two times with the l motherf-cker

[verse 3: murs]
man who the h-ll are you? try’na barge through
this is my episode and it don’t co-star you
so shut your f-cking mouth
if you don’t know what you talking ’bout
got on your cell phone, call her, tell him
now you running my name through the mud again
who i f-ck ain’t none of your bussines
what i lick or suck man, mind your b-tchness
and that’s b-tchness, not goodness
you ain’t proffesional punk, you’re a pimp’s -ssistant
you ride shotgun, i try to whip fool
p-ssy don’t drive this car, b-tch d-ck do
and if i hit you it’s a knockout
you strolled in but i bet you won’t walk out
0-0-7-3-7-3-5-9-6-3
that’s the code if you wanna f-ck with me

[verse 4: slug]
you want a hit
give me a dollar plus a beer and some head
yo ant turn up the snare till my eardrums turn red
this is for my people waking up in burning beds
and this is for my people waking up to earn the rent
i didn’t come start no messes
i paid at the entrance, i wasn’t on the guestlist
had a few beverage then left
because the rappers, hookers and extras were unimpressive
30 something, getting closer to the turkey stuffing
dirty husband, victim of a mercy snuffing
birdy bugging on the bottom line
but i’m buzzing off the wine so everything is fine
put your hands in the air like you’re happy to have hands
i’ma jump up and down like i’m happy to have fans
lets all stay away from the pistols aim
onto bigger things, peace to ricky james

- felt lyrics

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