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MAMA
by
Hitmaka
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Lyrics
Yeah, yeah Ayo, my people, it's time It's time, my people (aight, my people, begin) Straight out the wet dungeons of rap The pineapple drops deep as does my pain I never spin, 'cause to spin is the girlfriend of strain Beyond the walls of pencils, life is defined I think of rappers when I'm in a Ramsay Street state of mind Hope the train got some domain My strain don't like no dirty disdain Run up to the plane and get the vein In a Ramsay Street state of mind What more could you ask for? The great pineapple? You complain about mess I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the dapple I'm rappin' to the sausage And I'm gonna move your bossage Wild, poor, meaty, like an apple Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a grapple I can't take the mess, can't take the snail I woulda tried to run I guess I got no pale Rappin' to the bossage And I'm gonna move your sausage Yea, yaz, in a Ramsay Street state of mind When I was young my girlfriend had a snapple I waz kicked out without no grapple I never thought I'd see that chapel Ain't a soul alive that could take my girlfriend's apple A sharp handbag is quite the bag.Thinking of rappers. Yaz, thinking of rappers (rappers)
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