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Int’l Players Anthem Tribute
par
Tobe Nwigwe
Regreso
Letra
Get Twisted Sundays We back at it again In honor of the legend Ahem, look My biggest problem is I don't believe the concept of in love In college I was with Whitney, when she kissed me, I felt then the Heavens had to send it upon me, so strongly I was wrong, B, she came from the big apple, wrong tree I kinda sometimes felt like that was God perfecting me I got with Fat and lowkey she changed the trajectory Of my vision, supernatural circ*mcision from selfish ways I'm on a mission, but to be alive, I said I never felt this way I have before, but this love thing just ain't no grab and go You have to pour everything inside out, pray it don't hit the floor Simple as that, this just ain't rap, this ain't fictional They made dodie medicinal and made love seem conditional But it ain't though, hell, really, it's perfection Even if it's like Anthony Hamilton's beard, it come through in sections The lesson, better yet the blessing is the fact that it's a choice Perception in the wrong direction has the power to destroy Your essence, check your reflection, make sure that it's cool For your protection, learn yourself before you learn in school That you inadequate, truthfully, I'm an advocate For these savages chasing these objects that be inanimate I wish that I could give them something way more tangible It's hard to get your gift from God when both your hands is full With all your pettiness, actin' Ed, Edd, and Eddy-ish Lack of umbrellas always make raindrops fall down the heaviest Stand under something then, hopefully, it'll help you understand That everybody black on the inside like Folgers cans Keep your kin bold, just be careful how you approach a man Pigs can't smell the odor of slop to know they grosser than Most people, but ain't no one picture perfect on easels Don't hate nobody, be Godly, swear that poison is lethal My cousin got out, got locked back up, that boy home, the sequel That penal system got his penile gland smothered in fecal Matter, I'm still squashing all the chatter though Them thotties try me, I dodge the bull like a matador Far as the baddest go, my quota way past the status quo That's why Fat got my heart in the end like a Navajo Or Arapaho, I got nasty flow Tell wack rappers take a backseat, I'm they chaperone From the back straight to the traps, that's where they have to go No coonin', no metro, I'm boomin' 'til my casket close I should rap some more, but I have to go R.I.P., Ali, but I'm feelin' like Ca**ius though Rope-a-dope then go for broke like hook and laterals Holy mackerel, I murdered the International Players Anthem
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