Letra de Stro Is The Name
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(Intro)
Just make sure that anybody who’s anybody gets on the guest list, okay?
Just make sure that anybody who’s anybody gets on the guest list, okay?
Come on man, what’s all that fit?
I saw how you was lookin at that skeezer
Come on now Nicki, I was only being polite
Yea, well look, don’t try to play me
Having a girlfriend who’s becoming a…
I’m sorry for what happened to your son a’ight?
But don’t make your scapegoat cuz you failed as a father
(Verse)
Well it’s the 1-2 checker, take it back to the max
You got no choice but to respect the better
Bigger hater than Loff, with this head, with this rhyme flow
Fake emcees couldn’t grow with no Massato
Good god, you got the wickedness, witness
They bust shots when I rock, forget ballistics
My chicks is rachy, we don’t rock Givenchy
Armani, they take too much of our money
This dough went intact
But the style be resputia and precious, matter fact
I keep it matte black, everywhere, never coolin
But you got a Hollywood star in Congo square
I’m acidous, hittin every lyric with a different rhythm
Young and black and tryna see the system, that’s a stigmatism
I drop the science, I’m implying
I be Frankenstein to tracks for racks and racks
So look, can be that, I don’t need co-signs to hold mines with them rubber bands like the Motherland
It’s the over jam, not that funky stuff
Opening, closing and kickin in doors with these rusty chucks
This moment does what we gots to do when we got the jazz
Like they send a early prostitute
So please, I’m too G, drop a king to his knees, pause
(Verse)
Hey, you, what’s that sound?
Everybody look, what’s going down?
You better run and tell the owners I’m at the door
He while like Jersey Shore with flows galore
Ain’t down with the radio no more, oh no
Your hardest thing bumpin be the act me promos
Got underground trips by the boatload
You get popper, your boy gotta, boycott ya
Keep a couple rugged lyrics just to get on they nerves
Paralyzed, paragrass with these powerful words
Parapavesys, my joints is hit, you bellow that
You snap on beats like Kodak and you know that
With no words, I master sound like Balzac
But I could tell you that these rappers is ass, stroke back
You want more rhymes? Show me dollar signs, word.
(Outro)
Deadbeats & Lazy Lyrics
Sucka.
I saw how you was lookin at that skeezer
Come on now Nicki, I was only being polite
Yea, well look, don’t try to play me
Having a girlfriend who’s becoming a…
I’m sorry for what happened to your son a’ight?
But don’t make your scapegoat cuz you failed as a father
(Verse)
Well it’s the 1-2 checker, take it back to the max
You got no choice but to respect the better
Bigger hater than Loff, with this head, with this rhyme flow
Fake emcees couldn’t grow with no Massato
Good god, you got the wickedness, witness
They bust shots when I rock, forget ballistics
My chicks is rachy, we don’t rock Givenchy
Armani, they take too much of our money
This dough went intact
But the style be resputia and precious, matter fact
I keep it matte black, everywhere, never coolin
But you got a Hollywood star in Congo square
I’m acidous, hittin every lyric with a different rhythm
Young and black and tryna see the system, that’s a stigmatism
I drop the science, I’m implying
I be Frankenstein to tracks for racks and racks
So look, can be that, I don’t need co-signs to hold mines with them rubber bands like the Motherland
It’s the over jam, not that funky stuff
Opening, closing and kickin in doors with these rusty chucks
This moment does what we gots to do when we got the jazz
Like they send a early prostitute
So please, I’m too G, drop a king to his knees, pause
(Verse)
Hey, you, what’s that sound?
Everybody look, what’s going down?
You better run and tell the owners I’m at the door
He while like Jersey Shore with flows galore
Ain’t down with the radio no more, oh no
Your hardest thing bumpin be the act me promos
Got underground trips by the boatload
You get popper, your boy gotta, boycott ya
Keep a couple rugged lyrics just to get on they nerves
Paralyzed, paragrass with these powerful words
Parapavesys, my joints is hit, you bellow that
You snap on beats like Kodak and you know that
With no words, I master sound like Balzac
But I could tell you that these rappers is ass, stroke back
You want more rhymes? Show me dollar signs, word.
(Outro)
Deadbeats & Lazy Lyrics
Sucka.
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