patrick antonian – four door lyrics
we are eating savage ways, dip around the alleyways, cruise to the hood boy the whip is looking candy paint. its black licorice, smooth edges just like some scissor kicks, i’m nicolas caged inside some money making business’. i am indigenous, woodcrafting commissionist. pick a path to the road of adventure life is ridiculous. 25 is for ever. keep my soul in the center. i’m talking in life years and black polished beretta. get cheddar, love life, live it ain’t nothing better. i spit the truth on the canvas painting pictures in textures. cats that can’t hear that bullshit like they would deaf leppards. we official money getters. ya’ll some bed wetter. the soul sciences are building like blocks. im from the west coast, got me feeling like pac. its patron time with pat. that feeling don’t stop. like you off a molly in vegas & p-ssing out shots
gun ya’ll weed, but your brain cold meat. when you on the street you hope your enemy get cold feet. your friends think your wild when you drunk and high. i stack money piles. you just a funny guy. i never hate my competition i just put them to bed. you be rollin with the feds, i hold it down with the dread. roll a spliff up, put the piece to your head. you a dead man walking, ain’t no need for re-meds. you acting like i won’t peel and hit you with my guns heel, you think you’ll live forever, man that shit is un-real. you a done deal. and there’s no way around it. i paid my hitman and he said, ay, forget about it. my main man, following through with the game plan. my 45 will swallow your crew, make you say d-mn. i lick a shot and watch the crowd stampede. and i can hit you in the thought, so you could watch your man bleed
i never fall off dog. thats one of my promises. politically inclined, thats why i roll with obamases. i got that sweet talk for all the ladies in the place, baby just incase you don’t know where the king, well heres the ace. yea i fucked savana. gave her a hundred no vig, pull down my pants, she said d-mn you got a big d-ck. shut the fuck up b-tch. you want proof, call me snoop. bend you over doggy style. then we did it on the roof. im officially blowed. celebrate, lets toast. we pretty thugs, hit the beach. l.a. the westcoast. with the dvd clarity, 50 inch flat screen. you ask me do i still rap, i ask you what does that mean. still got the quotables. call me time magazine. i still get so high, its like i defy gravity. b-tch you ain’t got nothin on the rich ever other day my whole dress code switch, like this
clap ratchets, fat bags of that black magic. rap with a hatchet, straight jacket latches. clay cashes. jab sting like a bee, move like a b-tterfly, knife to the spleen. take on your team dolo, im hans solo, codine cowboy niggas lean like a cholo. spicy mango, triple black durango, we jumps out, pumps out,bl–dy your kangol. your neck hairs stand up, dave chapelle, choppin up lines of that zoey day channel, like michelle, my bell. low life west, throwing up my 2 ls. black sand beaches, black & tan kef cappachinos with the peaches. smoking that kiesha. return like jesus on easter day, with a dime piece and some hashish to blaze. iesha, you are the girl that i never had and i want to smoke this dutchy with you, with you. iesha, you are the girl that i never had and im trine sniff this chinese with you, with you
Random Lyrics
- patience & prudence – golly oh gee lyrics
- faf larage – mission : pas d’faux lyrics
- the hotelier – southern discomfort lyrics
- santz – fukemweball lyrics
- bobby gore – tell the truth lyrics
- damien saez – ghost downtown lyrics
- psychemoon – fairy in the lamp lyrics
- jon mclaughlin – down in history lyrics
- wintertime caesar – w|c|k|d lyrics
- lacoste – true luv lyrics