Eightball (8Ball)
Eightball (8Ball) - Hands In The Air songtekst
Je score:
Comin from the top of my, dome when I'm droppin my Own type of style and, ain't nobody stoppin my Rise to the very top, hit 'em up with all I got Superstar, no I'm not, green weed, black glock E'rybody want a piece, dirty like a pair of cleats Niggaz run they mouth a lot, like bitches and parakeets (Whoa!) How you want it pimpin? (Whoa!) I'm so cold wid it (Whoa!) Make other boys wanna do it just because I did it I'm like a legend or, some kind of prophecy Sent here to set you free, rest play or follow me Into another world, deep inside yo' own soul This shit here way bigger than tattoos and cornrows