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Fresh beats Clean, bangin cuts Filthy hard instrumentals
I just like makin beats and I got high standards when I make them. If you like one let me know.
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #885
Peak in subgenre #473
Author
Jon Podosek
Rights
©2008
Uploaded
December 30, 2008
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.9 MB • 128 kbps • 4:17
Lyrics
(Jon)
Shiiit, I'm starting to rhyme slang
So start sayin my name
Jon P. with the middle name James
Comin back like a boomerang or
Spring Rain, or maryjane
Hittin that beat and spittin that game
You spit that heat, I spit that flame
You undergo what I overcame yeah
Ima continue to do what I do su-woo
I got plans, I got match, and I got my crew
From MLT not barn-raised, got game like arcades
And we ain't at no partay but we still sippin that hard-a yeah
Yeah it's no surprise guy, this first prize, there's no ties
I'm up here n you down low n
You know I'm higher than the trees grow so
Just let them trees grow and
Roll it up real tight so we
Can burn that bleeze slow
I'll tell you anything you wanna know
When times get hard God wont show
Living without hope man fuck the pope
I'd rather accept a vain existence than worship a gay religion
When it comes to that blunt ya handlin'
Pass it to the side I'm standin'
It's not like no crash landin'
Spark that shit straight like a cannon
(Chorus)
I see you smokin I say, "Let me hit that, let me hit that"
When I had booze you said, "Let me get that, let me get that"
I saw your girl I said, "Let me hit that, let me hit that"
Where's that dub homie? "Let me get that, let me get that"
Charles:
Gimme a chance n I'll lay it down
One minute with her n I'll lay her down
Jon P. givin me that funky sound
Blunt don't stop goin round and round uh
Pass by and that deuce I chuck
Got my gat now you gotta duck
You got hit shit you outta luck
Yeah that's right I'm a bad fuck
My crime scene you can't inspect
Too cool with it now you just check
Ladies feignin and they clingin but I still give 'em no respect
Not the bitch, the dro I'm kissin
The girl's the fish and I ain't fishin
Haters talk but I never listen
Gat on me got me all limpin
(Chorus) 2X
Jon:
Bang this beat cause it's so hood
Friday night I'm seein what's good
I'm lookin for a spot to expose my wood
So bitch get down like you should, understood?
Think of it like a slurpee, better yet a slab of beef jerky
When you sense that squirty buckle up hold still
And pray it don't spray and you get dirty
But I'm out trying to catch up on my chill time
Like a hobo missin out on meal time
What a feign calls "pill-time"
Flows so solid you can't kill mine
Crusin' around at the speed of sound
Tryin to twist one up tryin to see who's down
And I don't want the night to end so I'll stay up 'till it's light again
What's poppin? You know me
No lumberjack, but I still blow trees
Best believe I smoke weed
I got a medicine bottle so my nose wont bleed
Oh, geez, you didn't get that?
My weed stinks bitch! So you better get back
Or you better get match if you wanna hit that
Otherwise it's gon' be "click-clack" or a bitch-slap
So get drunk, get high, get crunk, let's ride, I said...
Get drunk, get high, get crunk, let's ride (ride) (ride)
Get drunk, get high, get crunk, let's ride
Just go like it's the end of ya life
The end of the night
(Chorus)
