Jay Electronica
Jay Electronica - The Ghost Of Christopher Wallace songtekst
Je score:
[Verse 1: Jay Electronica] The game ain't been the same since B.I.G died And Wu swarmed on New York from out that beehive Don't talk to me bout MC's got skill Don't talk to me bout whose the king of the hill Don't talk to me bout whose the best alive or whose in your top 5 Cause he's not I'll Real recognize real, stick to your deal Try to make a cool mill off the single With that ringtone appeal In 3 years, you'll be nil Meal by mouth, my appeal down south Is like the nation of Islam's when Ali knocked Liston out A universal change from what appeared as just about All aboard, It's the last train, soul train A bottle of ciroc could turn a private jet to soulplane Put your seats back, your tray down and feet up Cause we about to heat up [Verse 2:] Rap crews we bruisin' em Crooked mouth, flat footed Cops man we losing them Let me see some ID, nigga fuck a ID You been getting head from crackheads in the lobby Mr. Officer, please observe my skintone Please observe the prophecies of hurricane and brimstone The flow's so Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoy Half oyster, half shrimp, fully dressed po-boy Lyrically I'm unfuckwitable, unforgettable One tough miracle, competition's none I leave em dumb stuck critical, that some luck, pitiful Better luck next time We young, black, and restless Hung, black and wreckless My name's on every guestlist I bang on every setlist Went to London town, tore it down and threw my necklace Even twitter said that Jay Elec be on that next shit I should be arrested [Diddy Ad libs]